Leaving Seoul (and my soul?)

You know that moment where you feel like you're in a movie? I just had it. Although I probably would have chosen a different soundtrack...

My movie took place today, during our last day of camp here in Seoul. After weeks of practicing The Monkey King and the play that I wrote, my kids were up on stage doin it and doin' it righheeeet. They were amazing. I was a proud mama.

I don't even know if Korea has a mafia, but if it did, it would surely start here...

But back to the drama.

As I sat in my chair, calmly watching the 8 year olds singing, "Love was made for you and me," while wearing little red hearts that they had taped to their t-shirts, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Song Yee, our director, was out in the hallway with Dana, one of our teachers, who was crying.

As hundreds of parents sat just inside the door, I watched as the two of them yelled quietly at each other, Dana waggling her finger violently and Song Yee trying to put her arm on Dana's shoulder. Anna, our other teacher, walked up behind Dana to see what was wrong, and Song Yee quickly shooed her away. Irene was crying too. What in the H was going on?

Parents milled out at the end of the show, and I watched Dana from inside the auditorium, her face tight, forcing smiles as moms and dads thanked her for a wonderful month. She was graceful in her efforts, but she wasn't fooling me.

When everyone had left, Dana pulled me aside to show me she had two large red marks on her neck. From where James had tried to strangle her. Oh yes, in the middle of the children's performance, the two of them had been out in the hallway, having it out, quite literally. James asked Dana why she was being such a bitch, Dana asked James why he was begin such an asshole, Dana asked him to leave her alone, and before you knew it, his hands were wrapped around her throat. I cannot believe this has happened in my workplace...albeit in an unconventional one.

We go upstairs and Dana is absolutely fuming, as are the rest of us. I feel like crying because no one is doing anything and James is still in the building, around the children, as if he is not a threat to everyone here. It's disgusting. Song Yee starts defending him because, of course, they are old friends. How fitting. Dana can't believe it. She wants to call the cops. Song Yee shushes her by bringing her into another room to discuss it calmly, with Katherine as their mediary.

After 20 long minutes, where Taejin, Anna and I are trying not to go crazy with anger, the three women come out of the room, smiling. Whew.

Song Yee admits that maybe she doesn't know James as well as she should. She has calmed Dana down enough so that she has decided to drop the idea of calling the police, but she says she still isn't up for our dinner out with the group to say goodbye. Such a shame. She had really become my friend...

******

An hour later, I am sitting in a Korean barbecue with my coworkers. It has been an awesome month. I have ten new Korean friends, dozens of adorable thank-you notes from ten year olds and knowledge of a culture that I didn't even care about discovering before I got here. Once again, everyone stops looking Asian to me (the same thing that happened to me in Japan), reminding me of my friends at home (the ones who aren't Asian--duh), which is a completely bizarre and disorienting experience.

I learn during my night out, that kimchee is only mildly disgusting when grilled, versus every other time I have eaten it. Everyone in Korea has told me that I need to eat it everyday so that I acclimate to the wretched red bean chili taste. And then, one day, I will wake up and love it. Yet after force feeding myself kimchee for the last month, I still hate it as much as the first day. So I suppose the barbecued version is a good way to meet the offender halfway.

As cameras flash and the obligatory peace signs are thrown up by the dozen, Song Yee ushers me outside so that she can pay me. The lovely part about working in Korea for a camp is that upon my departure, I walk out with 2800 bucks....in cash.

It is baffling to see so many bills in one place. But before i see them, Song Yee pulls me into the street. "We need to be careful, you know?" Is this even legal, I wonder? Well no, obviously not. Dumb question.

She walks with me, leading me gently by the arm, making awkward conversation and trying to avoid talking about what has just happened in our place of work. She sees an open doorway with a staircase leading up and pulls me into it. "Here," she says, "we can go upstairs."

When she spots the bathroom, she smiles nervously, her breathing quick and spastic. "We can go in here," she says.

And then, the movie turns into some old Korean mafia film. I don't even know if Korea has a mafia, but if it did, it would surely start here with my boss pulling out 2800 Korean wan in cash, in ten dollar increments (Korea's smallest bill) from brown paper bags in a public toilet.

With the door closed, the heat is absolutely suffocating. Already, outside averages about 90 degrees everyday with 80 percent humidity, so--to continue the mafia metaphor--being trapped in this bathroom is like stepping into my own coffin.

Sweat pours down my face as Song Yee locks the door and stacks the bills, about 4 inches thick for each of the two piles, on the sink counter. "Ok, here we go."

She gives me the bills and I start flipping them down onto the counter, only half counting because I am so incredibly hot that I am thinking more about how this scenario would look if I passed out right now on the floor than how much money I have earned. And how am I gonna get all this home anyway? I'm going to carry around two brown paper bags of almost 3000 buckanagas in cash for the next month before I return home to the U.S.? Oh heellllll naaawwwww.

"Are you counting?" Song Yee interrupts my thoughts. I thought she was counting, I think. "Uh, maybe we'd better start again. I'm just so hot." It's the only thing that comes to my mind in that moment.

She takes the bills from me and starts putting them down on the counter, this time counting aloud. I watch her, picking up the counted stack and using them to fan myself, noticing in the bathroom mirror how incredibly ridiculous this situation looks, even to me who is living it.

We get to 2800 and I am still, mostly, alive. I put the stacks back in their original bags and stuff them way down deep into my purse, clutching it to my side until my knuckles go white, as I walk back outside. I have never been so paranoid in my whole life. I can't stop picturing someone getting past Mr. Wong at the front hallway of our dorm, breaking into my closet-sized room with no window, cutting open my master locks on my suitcase and my backpack, and compiling my thousands in their greedy little hands. Now the sweat comes to my forehead for different reasons.

I sit back at the table in the restaurant with my friends and look at Katherine with disbelief, as she has the same amount resting in her purse right now as well. We smile and dig into our grilled beef and chicken, our lips burning with an unknown spicy sauce. I take a huge gulp of my beer. More camera flashes go off. June makes a hilarious face and we all laugh. I want to marry this guy but he's got a girlfriend. "Something smells so good," I say. Irene smiles and says, "it's the kimchee."