Going Home

I’ve been back at home for about 3 days now, and its been pretty mellow. I haven’t really seen many people yet, just been sticking at home relaxing. My last few months in Seoul were so damn busy that its nice for a change.

The night before I left though, I was in tears because I had suddenly been fully hit by the fact that I REALLY DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE! The thought of going home didn't appeal to me at all anymore, and all I wanted was to stay in my tiny, dingy, noisy apartment, the same one I despised when I first moved in. Suddenly all the little things about Korea that bugged me didn't matter; I just wanted to stay. But I had no choice. I had slowly said goodbye to everyone over the previous few days, which was tough. But I got to see almost all the people I wanted to see, there had been lots of good-bye partying, and I can honestly say that I left Korea on a complete high, feeling nothing but good feelings about all the people I had met. And that of course made it even harder for me to go....

I managed to get everything wrapped up and packed with time to spare, but my bags were so heavy that I couldn't even lift them. (I won't even talk about how many packages I mailed home.) My good friend Aaron helped me to the airport bus stop; it was appropriate that he should be the last one I said goodbye to, because he was one of my first friends in Korea, one of the few that I remained close friends to the entire time, and the one who helped me out with more than I can possibly ever thank him for. I was crying as I struggled to get my 2 ton bags onto the bus, and as the bus drove away, the old gentleman in the seat next to me made sure I noticed that Aaron was still standing there waving. That is an image that will forever be burned into my mind. I cried all the way to the airport; then finally pulled myself together again.

The flight home was fine but I didn't sleep a wink as usual. I was hoping to have all Korean passengers around me, because I wasn't yet in the mood to deal with Americans, and I wanted to eek every last bit of Koreaness that I could. I ended up having a Korean man on one side, and this family on the other and in front:

They are called the Brant Morie Family, and they are a traveling ministry from Oklahoma. I had first seen them in the line to check in, and was totally fascinated because they looked like they had just stepped out of Little House on the Prairie. They were all so plain and wholesome looking, and they all seemed so happy; I seriously couldn't stop staring at them. Some of the girls were even wearing those smock dresses they have on in the photo. Talk about a quick initiation back into America!

Arrival in SF went smoothly, expect for one minor debaucle -- I left a bag in the bathroom on the other side of customs and didn't realize it until 15 minutes later. Only a bit of a hassle, but the nice men in the Homeland Security finally let me go back and get it, but using it as a chance to act powerful and intimidating.

I had expected to have a little welcome party, and I was kind of dreading that moment when I first saw everyone. Would people look different? Would they think I had changed? I was actually kind of nervous about it. Turns out it was only my dad, and he looked exactly the same as when I left. I think he was even wearing the same shirt. Andrea and Manuel pulled up right as we were walking out to the curb, and my mom has stayed home so I didn't see her until a few hours later. It was nice to see people in smaller doses actually.

And everything since then has been very mellow.