I didn’t swerve around the pothole because I didn’t see it. In many ways, I’ve forgotten how to look outside myself and outside my culture.
Self-exploration and discovery don’t stop at the end of the twenties or upon graduation or after getting married or ever.
But then the form asked me to provide my “Duration of stay in Korea (days).” I put my pen down and looked up. It hit me then that I had no idea how long I would be here.
In the face of wrong in which we have a share of the implications, I hope Koreans—and people of other societies alike in their own contexts of crisis— feel a sense of shame.
In a strange twist of fate, English has now become my first language, and I’m trying to bring my Korean up to a similarly fluent level.
As we have witnessed in countless places, economic crises tend to lead to civil unrest and increased anger towards the establishment. Not in Korea.
As I’m forced to reconsider the value of these objects, especially my books, I’ve noticed that I tend to place more value on familiar things, precisely because I think I can exercise control over them.
I am learning to see God as my portion, but will I ever understand a life without air? The Lord’s favor is not an idyllic future, but a constant and inevitable, ineffable reality.
I was Reverse Culturally Baffled last week walking through my sister’s trim, manicured neighborhood. The playground sign near her house advised Indiana suburbia: NO guns or hunting allowed.