Goodbye for now: tea and lullabies

Do you ever have a moment where you feel like life sits you down, looks you straight in the eye, and says, "Stop what you're doing, and look - look all around you - look at this huge, sad, beautiful world you're so lucky to be a piece of - tell me that doesn't mean something - tell me that doesn't break your heart and heal its cracks at the same time"? When you feel so big and so small, all at once? When you feel like every atom you've got is somehow precious, like all of you and all of the things you've done have a purpose, like all the chaos around you organizes itself into one crystalline moment that lasts forever and yet no time at all?

That happened to me last night.

It was, of course, an accident. One can never have these moments on purpose. I wanted to end my evening by watching yet another episode of Game of Thrones - my latest TV addiction - but before I started, I wanted a cup of tea. So I took my mug, popped a teabag inside, and walked upstairs to the fifth floor kitchen to get a little hot water. As I was about to go back downstairs, I thought, tonight is a clear enough night. I should go out onto the balcony, see the city, get outside for a bit. So I went out, tea in hand, sat on an overturned trash bin next to the clothesline and looked out over my little corner of Seoul. And I had a moment.

I don't know why. I've been on this balcony many times before, at all hours of the day. But for some reason, this time, it all just hit me. I've been in Seoul for six weeks now, I thought, and tomorrow, I'll be going home. And I'll have to say goodbye to this city and the people I've met here, and I think it might break my heart.

I won't pretend I've fallen completely in love with Seoul. It is a huge, smelly, sometimes frustrating city, and I've felt lost here as often as I've felt, well, not lost. But for better or for worse, it has become home. And it's always hard to say goodbye to a home.

So, with an ache in my chest, I drank my tea and watched my little corner of the city. Watched the lights of Seoul Tower turn from red to blue to pink. Watched the trains go by below, listened to their wheels squealing against their rails. Watched the big, silent hill of Namsan Park and felt that it watched me back. Watched the single, silent star I could see above me through the smog. Felt the hot, muggy wind, and the heaviness in the air that means rain is coming. Heard the toddlers whining in the next building over, the distant cars on the freeway, the crunch-crunch of tires on the road below.

Somehow, it felt like Seoul was singing me a lullaby.

Good night, little foreigner, it said. See you next time.

And in that moment, I realized how truly lucky I am to be able to come here, to explore such a wonderful city, to teach such wonderful students, to have such wonderful adventures.

With that I end my blog.

Until next time,
-Emily O.