2018: The Year of Stagnation

After the whirlwind year that was 2017, I entered 2018 refreshed and with a glint of confidence in my eye. I set my energy on breaking out of the teaching cycle and getting my foot in the door of a new industry. This hopefulness slowly curdled into disappointment and self-loathing. I spent months languishing in creative and professional purgatory, and simply watched the days swirl past me as I waited for some golden opportunity that never came. Eventually, I had to return to teaching in order to sustain the household that Kris and I continued to build. It was the routine of working again, combined with finding wonder in almost every aspect of life, that helped to reignite some semblance of inspiration within me, and I enter 2019 with much of the vigor that I started the year with, even if it is tinted with more realism.

A clean break

I believed that 2018 would be the year that I managed to stop teaching and find a career in gaming. I elected not to search for a new teaching job in March, and dedicated my time to software testing. I spent three months learning all I could in the lead-up to the eventual exam. I aced the exam, and started what I thought would be a brief job search. There were so many gaming companies, and I would be a perfect fit at any of them, I thought. It turns out that this assertion could hardly have been further from reality. As a foreigner with zero functional Korean or experience in the field, I was barely a more appealing hire than a well-dressed Shiba Inu with halitosis. At least the Shiba could potentially be a company mascot, even if it did smell a bit.

The fog

Days of searching turned into weeks. I rarely received more than a polite stock rejection to any position I applied for, if I was graced with any response at all. I applied to more postings than I could remember, and I could count the number of returned contact on my fingers. Possibly even on one hand. My spirit wasn’t broken. It was led into a cell, chained to the wall, and given a daily beating every time I opened up the job boards. As the weeks turned into months, it had curled into a ball, simply too bruised to care anymore. Throughout this time, Kris remained her remarkable, supportive self. She encouraged me, and assured me that I would find a job if I just kept trying. So I did. It never came. I was emotionally and creatively void. That showed in how I was too ashamed of my situation to post on this blog for months. I was failing in achieving my dream, and I didn’t want anyone else to know.

Return to the classroom

I couldn’t evade reality forever. Our bills continued to come in, and my lack of contribution had drained almost all of our previous windfall in a leaking sieve of selfish, blind ambition. On the day in October at which I was at my lowest following one final disappointing dead end, a board gaming friend posted that his school would need someone to replace him from the beginning of November, as he was returning home on short notice. The position seemed about as good of a deal as I could have hoped for at the time. The hours were shorter than the average job, which would leave me time to pursue other professional interests. There was a good deal of vacation, to help me match my vacation time with Kris. Most importantly, the school seemed supportive of both the students’ learning and the teachers themselves. I interviewed, and for the first time in my soul-bruising searching period, I was offered the job. It was teaching, but after months of nothing, I was excited to teach again, and the income would help me continue to focus on the next step without all of the guilt surrounding not being able to contribute to our household financially.

Bonfire Lit

With each passing day of employment, I clawed back the self-worth that had been left in tatters by the failure of the rest of the year. As I began to think of myself in a light other than a grey, faded hue, I realized an unintended casualty of my emotional self-mutilation – I had lost my sense of wonder. No matter what I experienced, I could find little to no magic or marvel in it. Before 2018, I could find a sprinkle of fairy dust in the most mundane of experiences, but my eyes had been glazed over by disappointment. Thankfully, as I regained positive opinions of myself, I began to see the wonder in the world again. I was also fortunate enough to be presented with innately wondrous experiences in all spheres of my life, from the life-affirming album ‘A Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships’ by The 1975, playing Dark Souls for the first time, reading novels again after many months, spending more time with friends that look at the world from different angles to me and show me where they find happiness therein, and exploring more of Seoul and seeing the little wrinkles of joy that I had previously ignored. I played on arguably the most fun Ultimate teams I’ve ever played on, and they filled me with happiness even in the darkest of times. It is these renewed connections to the fantastical that I take with me into the year ahead.

Reflecting on a year where you spent the majority of it in isolated, unvoiced disillusionment is not an easy thing. I disappointed myself a great deal this year. I made more mistakes than I ever want to make in a year going forward. I hated myself more than I ever want to hate myself again. I am lucky that I could afford to have as awful a year as I did. Without my amazing wife supporting me in almost every way, I would not have been able to come out of this year remotely near being optimistic and able to see joy in the world, and for that I will be eternally grateful. My wonderful friends also managed to pull me out of my own negative world more often than I thought possible. 2019 will be a better year. I am filled with determination. Happy new year, everyone! I hope that your 2018s were better than mine, and that you never lose your ability to see the little miracles all around you.

All images in this piece by @mmingran.

One Sleep Until Marriage

Tomorrow, I get married. That is something that I have been waiting to say ever since I proposed to Kris months ago. And yet, now that the time is nigh, I almost can’t perceive the experience as real. In the few days since our arrival in South Africa, I have felt every emotion from exhaustion to frustration to boredom to happiness to excitement, all the way around to exhaustion again. In a few hours, I will be standing at the altar of my old school church, bonding myself to the woman that I love for the rest of my life. And I can’t wait.

Since we landed back in the country that used to be our home a little more than two weeks ago, we have been running around with little conception of the outside world, all in the aid of organizing the wedding. We have had appointments with jewelers, photographers, decor ladies, flower ladies, priests, lawyers, and post offices. We spent almost an entire afternoon buying ties, shoes, and shirts for the day. I have even put a bow tie on my Dachshund, Basil. He looks quite dashing, actually.

We knew that our first few weeks of holiday would mostly be spent finalizing the details of the ceremony and reception. We knew that we wouldn’t have much time for anything else. What we didn’t realize was just how draining the whole ordeal would be. We have both flopped into bed in near-death states at the end of each day of pulling all of the metaphorical strings together.

What little time we have had to see our South African friends has been relished. From our respective bachelor and bachelorette parties to a couple of convenient lunch dates, we have made the most of the down time that we have had. We look forward to more of this after the wedding.

But here I sit, one night and a few hours away from being a married man. How do I feel? Honestly? Exhausted. It’s probably just because today was another day of frantic runaround, but at this moment, I am the most keen I’ve been for bed that I have been in a long time. Maybe it’s my subconscious trying to shorten the sensation of the passing of time, all to make the wedding come faster. Maybe.

Am I nervous? A little. I have to give a speech, and I hate those things. Am I nervous that I’m marrying the wrong person? Not in the slightest. The first time the gravity of the situation truly hit me was today during the rehearsal. We were practicing our vows, staring deep into each others eyes. I was gazing into the soul of the woman that I love, pretending to promise myself to her for the rest of my life. Tomorrow, I do it for real. I can’t wait.

We’re Going…Home?

When my fiancee Kris and I first started planning our holiday to South Africa, we were extremely excited to be going ‘home’. We would be returning to the friends and family that we’d left behind all those months ago, and it would be a momentous, happy occasion. Sitting here in Incheon airport, waiting to start the first of two flights that we need to take to return to Johannesburg, I feel strangely different.

Over the past few days, we have been frantically trying to scramble together all of the things that we need for our wedding (the main reason that we’re heading to South Africa in the first place). We took our cat, Catsby, to the home of friends where he will be staying for the month. We collected my suit and received Kris’ wedding dress back after modifications. We bought Christmas presents for the close family that will be there when we return. As the date of departure drew closer, I began to feel like we were actually leaving home, and not heading towards it.

The more I thought about it, the more conflicted I became. Surely South Africa was my home? It was where I was born. It was where I went to school and university. It was where I met and fell in love with Kris. I had spent the vast majority of my life there. Surely that was my home? I couldn’t put my finger on why I felt otherwise until I mentioned my feelings to Kris this very evening, and she hit me with wisdom that I simply couldn’t see.

You see, home isn’t about where things happen, or where you have property. It isn’t about how many experiences you have in a place. It isn’t about how long you’ve spent there. Home is about people. The people around you are what make a place a home. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros accurately expressed this feeling in their song ‘Home‘, which Kris just happened to be whistling for most of the day.

Sure, we have friends and family in South Africa. We have many people that we frankly can’t wait to see, people that we haven’t seen for months or even years. But, now that we have spent many months living in Korea, we are also leaving a host of friends behind. These friendships, like those in South Africa, were forged through board games, Ultimate, food, or late-night deep conversations. And they are why Korea has felt like home – the amazing community that we have built around us.

In the end, my home will always be where Kris and I are together. For the next month, that will be South Africa, and we will relish our time catching up with those that we haven’t been able to hang out with due to the inconvenience of being on the other side of the world. After that, our home will once again be in Korea, where we will share our stories with our newer friends. Wherever Kris and I are together, we are home. And that is a pretty amazing feeling.

 

Engagement

As of today, I have been engaged for almost 2 months. While my fiancee and I had a great time seeing Seattle, eating its food, and experiencing The International, nothing from our short time in America will prove to be more impactful on our lives than my proposal to Kris. For some men, an engagement is something they meticulously plan down to the minute to give the biggest wow-factor possible. For others, it is a spur-of-the-moment action, forever immortalizing the pure feeling of a moment. For me, it was somewhere in the middle.

Our engagement was, as they say, a long time coming. We had been talking about it casually for years before, and I had a good idea of what I thought Kris would like to have for her engagement story. We had even discussed with her mother, who had offered her ring for me to use in my proposal.

My planning for the engagement began in earnest in April of 2016, a few months before our trip to Seattle. My aunt visited us from South Africa, bearing with her a number of treats that we had missed from home. Unbeknownst to Kristen, she also bore a crucial part of my proposal – her mother’s ring. Whilst she was showering or at work or otherwise indisposed, my aunt gave me the ring, and I hid it away from Kris, hoping to keep it a secret until the time was perfect.

I first hid the ring in a pocket of my laptop bag that I take to work every day. Keeping it on me for most of the time meant that there was no risk that Kris would stumble upon it whilst cleaning or just wandering the house while I wasn’t there. After a few weeks, I began to feel like Frodo, the weight of the ring bearing me down with anxiety. I also thought that I risked losing it myself, so I decided to rather hide it amongst some of the mess in our spare room, buried deep under clothes and bags. And there it lay, biding its time, for months.

Its time would come for certain when, shortly before our holiday, my mother informed me that my brother would be visiting us in Seattle for a weekend. I thought that his presence sealed the deal on an already impressive proposal package: a trip to a new city with many beautiful scenic places to propose, on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, now with a family member present to take photos? I knew that it was a moment the likes of which I would not have again for a long time.

So, I colluded with my brother, telling him of my intentions. His duties were to take photos of the occasion and be his generally charming and bubbly self. He also provided me an excuse for Kris to have to wear a nice dress – my brother is known to suit up on occasion, and I told Kris to bring something fancyish to wear in case he wanted to go somewhere that warranted nicer clothes.

As for the venue, I was not one hundred percent set on the location of the proposal before we arrived in Seattle – I had narrowed it down to a couple of the more accessible and scenic parks, but I hadn’t made up my mind. Luckily for me, this was sorted when Kris was told about a local wine farm at which a friend’s mother worked, and expressed a keen interest to go. I smiled more than I probably should have, and suggested that it be somewhere we take my brother Jamie on his weekend. It was all set.

When the day came, I was perfectly calm. The schedule for the day was simple – we would go on an Underground tour in the morning, and then head to the wine farm in the afternoon. Kris, Jamie and I met up for breakfast at the local corner cafe, ate heartily, and left for the day. As we began the Underground tour, we stopped to take a photo at its start. It was here that we discovered that the memory card for the camera was….not in the camera. A proposal without pictures? That would certainly not go down well. Oh well, the fix was simple – we would head back to the apartment, get the memory card out of the computer (where I had left it after transferring photos from the TI6 press day), and then continue our journeys. Easy.

This was made distinctly less easy when we discovered that we (read: I) had somehow managed to lock the door with the keys still inside, and our host had left to visit his parents for the day. To say that I was freaking out would be akin to saying that sugar might in some way be linked to weight gain. Despite the level of tension within, I couldn’t seem too worried, because at this point, the proposal was still a surprise for Kris. If I completely had a meltdown over not being able to take photos at a seemingly innocuous wine farm, she would think something was up. So, I put on a brave, slightly crazed face, and quickly found a nearby store that sold memory cards. Crisis averted. No need to push the big red button. We got in an Uber and headed to the wine farm.

When we got there, I covertly told my brother to buy some champagne whist we were doing a wine tasting. He had had a rather big night the night before, and wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with alcohol quite yet. So, whilst we were listening to the nice wine hostess tell us about each wine before I nervously gulped it down with little pretense of appreciating it, he did. We finished our tasting, and left the main building. I suggested we take a walk around the grounds – it seemed quite pretty, and I wanted to enjoy greenery before we headed back to the cement forests of Korea. Kris obliged. My hands began to shake noticeably.

We wandered for a while before I spotted a small lake with some beautiful, leafy trees surrounding them. This was the place. There was no better spot on the wine farm. I told Jamie to get the camera out, and ask that Kris take off the bangle from the Underground tour – it wouldn’t look so good in photos, I said. She looked puzzled, but did so. We walked together to the edge of the lake. I breathed in. After a moment of complete and utter terror, I breathed out, looked Kris in the eye, and started a short, impromptu speech. I told her how much I loved her. I told her how happy she made me, in every possible way. I told her how she had helped me find and more readily express who I really am. I told her how she made me want to be a better person – to be more than just a person who forgets the memory card and house keys in the apartment. I may have sworn once out of nervousness. Then, I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. She said yes. We drank champagne. We took photos. It was just as I had hoped.

In truth, I knew she would say yes. I knew I wanted to ask her from when I first got to know her, and she for some reason knew that she would say yes from the moment she got to know me. I was nervous because I wanted to give her a story that she would proudly tell whenever she would get asked ‘Well dear, how did he propose?’. And, in talks since then, she said I gave her a wonderful story. I could not have planned a better moment. That makes me proud. I could not have asked for a better person to spend my life with, and if I managed to give her what she dreamed of, there is no greater honour in the world.

Bacon, Bacon, Bacon, and Bacon: The Story of How Kris and I Met

Those of you who have met or hung out with me in the last three years and change most likely also know or know of my indescribable girlfriend Kris. We have been going steady for longer than any other previous relationship of mine. But where did it all start? How did we meet? Was it love at first sight? The tale begins on an otherwise ordinary night out with my close friends of the time, on the 21st of July 2012…

I had organised a get-together at my favourite restaurant in the entire world – Gino’s. It is a place of many family memories. My mother, my brother, my aunt, and I had all worked at the restaurant. My mother had even owned a franchise branch of the chain at one point. I had been going there since I was one month old, and I felt it high time that my friends join me there. So, I roused my friends, and we met for a late dinner after our regular evening of board games.

We entered the restaurant at about 21h30. We waited for a short while to be seated. When our table was ready, we were met by Kris. I didn’t know it quite yet, but this was the point at which my love life would be forever changed. Even in her work outfit and crusted with the frustrations of an evening’s work, she was the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen. She served us curteously and efficiently. She also showed her charisma and sass, perfectly fitting in with the banter that was flowing around the table. Since then, she has told me that she hated all of us at that point, because we came in late, were a huge table, and took forever to order our food. Clearly the woman is capable of acting nice in order to earn a tip.

Pretty much our table

As the night wore on, we did manage to put in our orders right before the kitchen was due to close. Most notable amongst these was my one friend’s request to have a calzone (pizza dough which is filled with toppings, folded over, and baked like a pie). This was no ordinary calzone. It was a calzone with four ingredients: bacon, bacon, bacon, and bacon. He was one of the last to order. Many people who had ordered before him carefully pondered changing their order after this culinary revelation, but no-one did.

All throughout the meal, I was sneaking glances at Kris whenever I could. I may have appeared to be keeping up with the conversation of the table, but I was doing anything but. I just didn’t want to look like a creep.

The night wore to an end far too quickly for my liking. We paid the bill (making sure to leave a generous tip) and got in our cars. I came with one of my friends in his small car. The moment I was inside, I began the first phase of the grand plan to woo the waitress. There was little opportunity to reveal my intentions in the restaurant without seeming like a creep. Over instant messaging, however, I could be as candid or secretive as I wanted whilst learning more about the fascinating person that is Kris.

There was one obstacle – I did not have her number. Because I had worked at Gino’s myself, I knew that if you asked the waitresses for their number, they would refuse you, no matter how interested they were. This was a policy of the restaurant, created by Gino himself to protect the waitresses from creepers like myself. Luckily, I had a solution to this problem. I simply messaged one of my friends from Gino’s who was also waitressing that evening and asked her for Kris’ number.

Yes. I asked someone else for Kris’ number. Via BlackBerry Messenger (BBM – long may it rest). I am quite cretinous. Despite this, Kris and I chatted briefly on my trip home from the restaurant. After a few casual back-and-forths, whilst discussing something completely unrelated to romance, Kris dropped the news that I was dreading. She had a boyfriend. I turned to my friend. We shared a short stare. I screamed one word, whilst my hand contorted into a claw around my BlackBerry. CURSES!

The road ahead looked rough for me. Yet, I was willing to travel it. I had navigated my way out of the friend zone before. I was determined. I had never wanted anything or anyone that much in my life. Just over a month later, we were a couple. And we are still blissfully happy, three years later, on the other side of the world. Valentine’s Day may not be something we celebrate, but the general  buzz of romance around the world led me to remember the day where my love for Kristen began. Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day, everyone.

Farewell, Sweet Kichu

Last night, Kris and I dropped off one of our cats, Kichu, at what we hope will be his forever home. It was a difficult time for both of us. Kris was teary about it at multiple points during the week, and even though Kichu disrupted my sleep more times than I can count, I am also deeply saddened at the loss of his presence in our household. However, it was the best decision for his future, and, when cats are concerned, we certainly put their needs above our own.

The process of finding Kichu’s new mother, chatting to her, and arranging to drop him off at her house was remarkably quick. We were first put into contact with her on Tuesday. We initially arranged to drop of Kichu on Wednesday, but that fell through, leading us to drop him off yesterday (Thursday) instead. It has been an emotional few days.

Kichu is a very charismatic, loud, and curious cat. He has been our cuddle buddy, alarm clock, welcoming committee, hot water bottle, gaming companion, and so much more in the short time that we have been lucky enough to have him. He did frequently annoy me by fighting with our other foster cat, Catsby, and by meowing late at night and early in the morning. Kris did not notice the meowing as much, as she sleeps like a rock, but I was at my wit’s end with Kichu on many occasions. Nevertheless, I always loved him, and he was a core part of our home.

Getting him to Itaewon in Seoul, where his new mother lives, was an ordeal, but not quite as onerous as I was expecting. Kichu does not like to travel. He came to us drugged up on sedatives, meowing his head off, with his eyes rolling in his head from fighting off the drugs. We were worried that moving him would be a similar experience. Luckily, it was not. We chose not to sedate him, and simply drive in a taxi with an understanding taxi driver. The choice not to drug him proved worthwhile, as he was relatively calm. He meowed the entire way, but his tone was nowhere near as panicked as it was on his first night with us. We were glad that he was more settled.

When we arrived at his new home, he was initially very wary. He did not leave his carrying box for a couple of minutes. Thankfully, his curiosity soon outweighed his fear, and he began clambering all over his new home, mewing his opinions on the decor. We spent what felt like an all-too-short amount of time allowing him to settle in while we met his new mother. She seems lovely, and we believe that she will give Kichu all of the love that he needs. She also works from her home, so she will be able to spend more hours per day on Kichu than we were. Overall, we are happy that he is going to a place where he will be loved.

Then, the time came to say goodbye and catch the two buses back to Dongtan. We cuddled him, shed a tear or two, and walked out the door. Kris broke down a little on the roof outside Kichu’s new home, but she quickly gathered herself. I admire her for her strength.

The house is very different without Kichu. It is quieter, but less full of life and action. We didn’t receive a welcoming meow, or a wake-up call. It was almost eerie this morning. We will need to adjust to his absence. However, his new mom has said that we are welcome to pop in and say hi whenever we like, and we will most likely take her up on it. Kichu may be out of our home, but he is probably not out of our life. And, more importantly, he is now brightening someone else’s life – someone who will be able to provide him the stable him that we might not be able to for a while. Kichu will be happy. And, because of it, so will we.

We Went to a Land Down Under

The drama with obtaining my Australian visa was worth it. More than I could ever have thought possible. What, for me, was meant to be a little break from the rush of teaching children and generally being an adult in Korea turned into one of the greatest moments of familial bonding that I’ve had in many years. We laughed. We cried (in happiness). We drank more consistently than I’ve drunk in a long time. And every moment was pure happiness and contentment. I could not have asked for more from a holiday.

After our less-than-ideal travel to the wonderful, bureaucratic country that is Australia, Kris and I greeted the James family, my relatives. We briefly discussed the inconveniences that had plagued us along the way, Australian border protection, and general pleasantries, before we went to bed. The next day meant the arrival of my mother, father, and brother from South Africa and belated Christmas on Boxing Day. I couldn’t wait, but I slept like a baby hopped up on sleeping pills out of relief at arriving safely.

The moment I had been waiting for for many months approached rapidly. We drove to the airport (back so soon after it all) and waited for my immediate family to arrive. While we waited, we entertained ourselves by people-watching the rest of the inhabitants o the airport at that point in time. One young girl in particular struck our attention. She was clearly an enamoured young lass, holding a sign that read something along the lines of ‘Paulo ❤ Anita; I cannot survive another day without you.’ The sincerity of her placard and her clearly eager face intrigued us. We wondered if the mythical Paulo would ever show up. We were so fixed on Paulo and Anita’s love story that we simply shrugged off my own family’s arrival, staying in the airport to wait and see if Paulo would arrive. He did. They kissed. It was cute, and then a little gross. We left. That moment of intense emotion felt by others has managed to stay clear in my head, even when the host of my own happy memories from the following days blurred together. Funny how that works, really.

The all-too-short time we spent in Australia was filled with more happy moments of bonding with both my immediate family and the James family. Here is a shot of us all, enjoying the aforementioned belated Christmas dinner.

We ate. We drank. We went on a trip down to the boonies in the Southern part of Western Australia. There, we drank wine, jumped off of jetties, and looked for kangaroos.

That poor rental bus.

For some context, I have met the James family in person only twice before. Both times have been in South Africa. Between their two visits, we have kept in contact and banter through Facebook. I would not have considered myself to be too close to them before the trip. After the trip, however, they rank amongst my closest friends, and we have all agreed to try and remain in much better contact going forward.

Oh, and we did finally meet kangaroos. Kristen was braver than I was. And more smooth.

While it was a refreshing to bond with the James family, some of my favourite moments were those brief periods of time I was able to spend with my mother, brother, and father by themselves. Whether it was talking to my brother about his plans for his current studies and plans for the future, talking with my mother about the rest of the South African family, or discussing my father’s work life, I treasured each second of personal time with these three people that I have known for my entire life (or, in the case of my brother, four years short of my entire life). I miss many people, but none more than them.

I could spend thousands upon thousands of words describing every moment and experience we shared. I could ramble about listening to awful Australian rap as New Year’s approached. I could rave about Australia, and how I now understand why so many South Africans choose to move there. Most of the time, I feel like words are at least equal to pictures in their ability to capture the experiences of my life. For my trip to Australia, I am not nearly a good enough writer to depict how blissful, joyous, raucous, and simply fun it was to be with those I call family. For now, I leave you with one picture, taken at a craft beer house, and a new horcrux of happiness for me. This is what happiness looks like. This is how I spent my entire break feeling. These are the some of the indescribable people I spent it with. I hope that all of you lovely readers are lucky enough to experience joy as pure as this. 

Star Wars: Episode VII

Just go see it. Right now. Stop reading this post and just go see it. I am not going to spoil anything for you, because everyone deserves to experience it without having major plot points revealed before they even consider venturing into the theatre. Star Wars is something that I am passionate about, and with the release of the newest major motion picture in the greatest franchise that has ever been, that passion has been stirred in me once more.

I have loved Star Wars for the majority of my life. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting at a family friend’s house, watching Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back. I remember C3-PO sitting, broken into pieces. I remember the music. I remember small details that probably should be taken up with more ‘significant’ information. There was a period of time where I couldn’t watch it at home, because we didn’t have the video tapes.

It was around this time that Episode I: The Phantom Menace came out. I was nine years old at the time. I can recall my feelings in that theatre to this day. It was a school friend’s birthday party. I sat in the darkened room, waiting in anticipation. The moment finally came when the fanfare began to play, and the tale began to be told in yellow words rolling slowly up the screen. I loved every moment of that movie. I even loved Jar Jar Binks, so much so that I regularly spoke Gungan for a long while afterwards. Hey, I was nine okay. We all have our youthful eccentricities.

My love deepened with the release of each of the new prequel trilogy, and with every moment I spent watching the original trilogy on my shiny new DVD player. From Luke’s first steps in exploring the Force, to the climax of Return of the Jedi, to the lightsaber duel at the end of Episode III, I was captivated by the universe created by George Lucas and his team of wizards.

As I got older, I started exploring the Extended Universe, and forming my own opinions with regards to the universe. Han shot first, of course. Jar Jar Binks…well…my love for him ebbed. But my love for the series as a whole only grew deeper. Everyone has the movies that defined them throughout their youth. Amongst mine are the Star Wars films.

When I reached the end of my schooling days and entered university, I found that I was not the only person in my city that was obsessed with the Force. I forged friendships talking about what could have been, what should have been, in the lives of Luke, Leia, Han, and all of the rest of the merry band of rebels. Many of them have lasted to this day, and will likely last the rest of my life.

I owe much of who I am to Star Wars. So, when I say that you should go and see Episode VII, you know that I am a biased source. Maybe you have yet to see a Star Wars movie (like my very own mother). Maybe you know the name of every character in every Episode. Whatever your relationship with Star Wars, go see Episode VII. You may find yourself falling in love, as I have.

Half-Century

So, this lady on my left is 50 years old. It was her birthday yesterday. She is at times wonderful, at times stern, at times highly witty, at times deathly serious. She has been a mentor. She has been a partner in watching more Smallville, The Mentalist, CSI, Bones, and random crime shows than I’d like to admit to. She has helped me push myself when I needed a little encouragement. She has held me back when I needed to exercise caution. She is none other than my mother.

People always use the phrase “mommy’s boy” as a derogatory term for a wimp, someone who always backs out at the last moment, citing some lame excuse. Were I a perfect reflection of my mother, that is far from the person that I would be. My mother knows fear, but she uses it to make herself stronger. When she sees that she is afraid, she knows that she is expanding herself beyond her previous limits. And there is nothing she enjoys more than that.

I have more happy memories with my mother than I can count or try to remember. Everything from grand trips we have taken together (like walking the streets of Paris in the space of two days) to many a lazy night at home, watching some mindless television show, trying to predict whodunnit. She also broke the only bone that has ever been broken in my body by falling onto my leg and causing it to be cleft in twain. She claims that I was being a spoiled brat at the time, making a fuss about a toy another kid got at their birthday party. As I am prone to obsessions, I can believe this. Unlike her supposed, short-lived career as an aerobics instructor.

It will be her birthday celebration on Tuesday evening, and arguably the first such event that I will not be attending. This year is a big year for my family, in terms of birthdays. I turned twenty-five, my little brother turned twenty-one, and my mother turned fifty. The fact that I cannot be with my family to celebrate these milestones is one of the hardest parts of working abroad. I am sure it will get easier, but missing such major celebrations does dampen my spirits a little as they roll around. Tuesday will be a sad, lonely day in Korea.

I wish I could be there, but I can’t. Having two week’s leave at inflexible times of the year is the bane of every teacher in Korea’s existence. My thoughts will be far away from the small children I take care of on that day. They will be centred around the cozy home and school where all of our closest friends and family will gather to celebrate my mom’s and my brother’s birthday. So, until we meet again in less than two weeks, I say this to you, mom:

I love you. Never change who you are. I’m sorry about turning your hair brown because you became pregnant with me. I can’t wait to see you again.

Fellowships, Old and New

To come to Korea, Kris and I left our South African friends behind. It was a painful thing to do for both of us. While we may not have the widest friendship circles, we have formed deep bonds with a number of people. It is the desire to see these friends and our families that is the primary force drawing us back to South Africa. However, as we have spent more time in Korea, we have bonded with others here. Sadly, this weekend, we had to say goodbye to a pair that we have grown remarkably fond of. Even though we only knew them for a couple of months, we forged a friendship that will (hopefully) last a long time.

The lovable gent in the cover photo is Holm. He is a scholar, a gentleman, and, occasionally, a model for the fashion properties of pumpkin pie. It is Holm and his lovely girlfriend Kristy that we had to say goodbye to.We spent yesterday with them, doing what we love to do best – eating, playing board games, and talking about everything and nothing. We met at a sushi restaurant, walked over to play Munchkin at a nearby bakery, then ventured to a Western-style restaurant for our final meal together. It was a fitting end to chapter one of our friendship. When we parted, I was fighting off tears. I will miss them both immensely.

Today, on the other hand, was a day of bonding for both Kris and I. Kris went to have a bitch and stitch (a feminine gathering where they knit and catch up) with one of her close friends, Robyn. She will also be leaving Korea next March, but that is a tale for another post. I spent my day writing and gaming, before Kris returned home and we had a Skype session with this scalliwag:

Findlay Matheson. The only thing longer than his hair is his influence in my life. Findlay is my oldest friend. He and I often spend hours talking about inanities that most of humanity would abandon after mere moments. Tonight’s Skype was a brief discussion about his brother’s partner’s pregnancy, general catch-up, and an intricate discussion of XCOM: Enemy Unknown. Yes, we have our priorities completely correct. Words, even my words, cannot describe how much this man means to me.

Friends are important in keeping ourselves sane. Or at least suitably, functionally insane. New friends such as Holm and Kristy and old friends such as Findlay help me keep touch with exactly how much we have accomplished in our time in Korea. This is a formative part of my life, with decisions that I make now likely having far-reaching implications into my future. With friends like these, I know I will be guided on the correct path for me. They say if one can hold a friendship for seven years, it will last a lifetime. I have been friends with Findlay for more than twenty. I foresee Holm and Kristy reaching similar lengths. I cannot wait for the moments that I will share with these, and all of our other, friends in the future.

Whether we stay in Korea for a long time or come home after our next contract, it is friends that will help us along the way, and friends that will be there to cheer us on as we reach our dreams. Whatever the future holds, Kris and I will face it with input from our friends. Thank you for always being there for us.