Shitty Metaphors

Despite the fact that my parents are divorced (or more accurately, permanently separated), I have to admit that there are many things that I've never understood about it. Not just their divorce, but divorces in general. How you can be so in love one day and then just watch it all fall apart? How can people that once shared so much be so cruel to one another? And why are people so stupid about relationships? Fear not- this will not be an analysis of the institution of marriage and its relationships, I haven't the patience for that.

As a child, I remember hearing tales of couples divorcing over a toilet seat left up one too many times, or differing opinions on whether the paper should hang from the front or the back. In my innocence, divorce for such trivial reasons sounded utterly ridiculous, and though I doubt my parents ever told me I would understand when I was older, I fear I'm starting to. There are few places in the world that even Hollywood movie crews fear going, and one of them is the bathroom. It's too private. No one wants to be seen in there. Many of us have weird bathroom rituals that we don't want to admit to, let alone be seen doing. I for one, refuse to touch the flusher with my hand and use only my feet. Not so weird until you picture someone contorting their body into pretzel-like forms because Korean bathrooms are too small to allow you to stretch your leg out. I had a crazy roomate who went one step further and would use his feet to turn on the taps. Though some of you, I expect, are rolling your eyes and laughing at my fanatical fear of bathroom germs, I'm sure you have your own strange habits. After all, when it comes down to it, we spend alot of time in the bathroom- be it in the shower or bathtub (oh how I miss you, bathtub), in front of the mirror or using the toilet.

By now you're probably wondering if I've lost my mind. Has she completely run out of things to say? Is that why she is writting about bathrooms? Well, not quite. Although maybe that's a sign of things to come if I'm finding ideas in toilet paper. When I lived in Canada- Montreal or Calgary, I knew where to find the clean bathrooms in the city. I would run through a list in my head of the closest possibilities and make my way there- even if it was out of the way. The bathrooms at Cine (Montreal cafe) were sometimes so bad, I'd opt for the bar next door. Or even run two blocks and up four flights of stairs to use my own bathroom. Living in Korea has definitely brought about a new appreciation for Canadian bathrooms. Korean ones often feature porcelain squattors instead of toilets. Often times there is no toilet paper in the bathroom. The water from the taps is always cold and the only soap that ever seems to be available is bar soap. I suppose this comes from the Korean concept of community- but I'm just not big on using the same soap as everyone else's dirty little hands. So I carry hand sanitizer and tissue with me everywhere I go. Wondering how I've survived so long? Me too. Though it's standard for bathrooms to lack in tissue, there is almost certainly a 'courtesy box' in each stall. The courtesy box has a small speaker, and with the touch of a button will produce the sound of a toilet flushing - just in case you're shy. Often bathrooms here are unisex- resulting in some awkward maneuvering as you try to pass the man standing at the urinal on your way to the stall.
Bathrooms are so much a part of our private life that this is perhaps where we seem to exhibit the most particularities. Having lived with quite a few roomates, I've come to understand just how particular people can be about their bathroom space. Tensions can rise around the issues of bathroom set-ups and time sharing. Alex and I started off our year together by bonding in the bathroom as a result of our KFC-induced food poisoning. Perhaps our ability to share the space in such a miserable time allowed us to get along better as a result... or maybe not- who knows? When I lived in the house of IMAXers + ex-boyfriend, tensions rose as we realize that all of us were making use of our claw-footed bathtub for different purposes.... some of them disturbing- especially when you consider the number of people living in that house. When I first arrived in Montreal, you may remember the tale- I was living with a lunatic. I quickly moved in with my director, Ross. Ross was a sweetheart, but had a problem with cleaning. The first time I showered at his place, I wondered about the odd colour of his bathtub. I had never seen a black bathtub before. A quick wipe with my finger revealed that it should in fact be a pale blue- a fact that even Ross had forgotten. My first St Henri apartment came sans door or bathroom sink- obviously leading to some awkwardness in the first few weeks of residency. My second St Henri apartment came with a skylight in the bathroom. It was beautiful- you could look up at the stars while having a shower. But then summer gave way to fall, and fall to winter and soon there was snow in our bathroom. But I'll get to the point. Once upon a time, Fred and I lived with Luke and Nouria in a tiny apartment on St Catherine Street. While we are all good friends, the boys have some odd peculiarities and as luck would have it, they don't match. Fred spent much of his time at Cine, his coffee shop for the last... many, many years. Luke spent his time at Cock 'n Bull, the bar next door. They were like night and day. Fred dragged himself from his bed at 9am (four days out of five, anyway), across the street and into his office building. Luke would drag himself out of bed some time in the early afternoon, and then rush off to work at the bar in the evening. Fred enjoyed cooking, Luke was king of McDonald's. Fred almost killed me for twice-dipping a knife into the mayonaise jar (he seems to believe that bread crumbs in the mayonaise corrupt the whole jar). Luke was particularly attached to a particular brand of toilet paper. And thus began the problems. We took turns buying toilet paper- Luke and Nouria would buy once, and the following time Fred and I would buy. This particular brand of toilet paper could only be purchased at the mall three blocks out of our way. Three blocks is not far unless you consider that Fred, who lived, worked and played all within a three block radius had no reason to venture outside of it. Except to get toilet paper. So eventually respect for the particularities of toilet paper gave way to laziness and we started buying other brands of toilet paper. The change seemed smoothe- neither Luke or Nouria mentioned their annoyance with the new toilet paper- until one night when Nouria stumbled in a little drunk. Then it all came out. It seemed that tensions were rising around the toilet paper issue, and it was believed that we were purposely trying to provoke them. Why was it so hard to comply with Luke's toilet paper wishes? Hadn't we noticed that our new brand clogged the toilet (no, we hadn't)? Secondly, it had been their turn to buy toilet paper, didn't we trust that they would remember? Had they ever forgotten before?I can't remember for the life of me the outcome of this dicussion- whether we continued to buy the 'other' toilet paper, or if we switched back to the roomate-approved paper. Either way the toilet paper discussions were simply a microcosm of the problems that arose between Luke and Fred that year- leaving Nouria and I awkwardly in the middle. Though tensions rose and fell throughout the year, we've all managed to stay friends- but clearly these two were not meant to live together...

Last week as I sat, infuriated in my boss's office, listening to him talk about his latest idea for completely wasting my time, this issue once again came to my attention. Over the past eight months, my boss has proven himself too cheap to provide us with proper health insurance and pension benefits (both required by law), attempted to house me in biggest dump I have ever set foot in and tried to talk me out of air conditioning. In discussion about moving children from one class to another, or simply out right admitting that we don't have an appropriate level for the student he has been known to use his absolutely favourite phrase, "That is not profitable". Pretty impressive for a man with very poor English, although I guess this is an important sentence for an accountant. In any case, as I sat in the office arguing with him about whether or not it was a waste of my time to record for him 200 books onto CD (and, as I threw, a violation of my contractual agreements with my agent in Canada... a blatant lie since I have fired my agent, but he doesn't need to know that), the issue of toilet paper crept up once again. It is not enough that this man has carefully manipulated my schedule over the last eight months so that it went from bad to worse, or that he feels that he can drag us in on Saturdays to help him move schools, or come up short on our contractual agreements, or ask me the same question twelve different ways hoping I'll forget what I had told him last time. Now the man feels that he has the right to regulate my use of toilet paper. Let me explain. Our school is on the sixth floor of an office building, and the kid's bathrooms are located in the school. The teachers, however, have to use the building's bathrooms down the hall- one of the infamous Korean bathroom, that though clean- is free of such conveniences as toilet paper and soap. So every morning, I bring a roll of tissue with me to the bathroom and leave it there for everyone's convenience. Apparently my boss is becoming very concerned with the fact that the roll of tissue is being shared amongst all the women on the floor, and not just his employees. Apparently this one roll of tissue is going to break the bank. He requested that I pass on to the other teachers that we should only be taking enough tissue to the bathroom for that time. And I told him to call the building manager and find out why there was no tissue in the bathroom. Of course, once we realized how closely he monitored his tissue stock, we all began bringing rolls of tissue to the bathroom- this way he's wasting not one roll a day, but at least four. Though satisfying that it's giving me the opportunity to be a brat, the fact that the issue came up is absolutely disgusting. Because this man employs me, and further, because he has paid for my plane ticket here and is housing me, he feels that he owns me for the duration of one year. He feels that he can go so far as to regulate my use of toilet paper- when no where in my contract does it stipulate that I should have to abide by his desperate money-saving measures. Though it does say that he owes me a year of health insurance, paid vacation and the government pension plan. Eight months down, four to go. Here I am in Korea, and loving it- but it's clear that my job is absolute shit and there isn't enough tissue in the whole school to clean up his stupid mess. And even if there was, I wouldn't be allowed to use it so wastefully.

World Cup, Stanley Cup- Everywhere a Cup, Cup

Kristine, Min, Leslie & Reg (beer in hand)

For the next week, most Canadians will not be far from their TVs, as we watch in excited (and obsessive) anticipation to see if the Stanley Cup will find a home in Canada for the first time since 1993. But the rest of the world isn’t particularly concerned about the Stanley Cup, in fact they have no idea what’s happening in the world of hockey. Shocking, I know. The TVs of the world are set intently to live coverage of the World Cup.

Commercials have been running on Korean TV for months, gradually causing people to grow more and more excited about the upcoming games. In the 2002 World Cup in Korea/Japan, Korea’s team placed twelfth- better than they had ever done before. For four years they have waited for the chance to outdo themselves. Most of my friends are too young to have clear memories of the insanity that I’m sure took place last time Montreal won the Stanley Cup. But nothing I’ve seen in Canada could come anywhere close to what I experienced on Tuesday night.

After work, Min, Kristine, Leslie, Reg and I donned our red Devils shirts and made our way to Omokgyo for dinner. We ate dagalbi- a spicy chicken dish with daboki noodles, and stuffed ourselves full of kimchee. We made our way to City Hall, and got off the subway only to be greeted by a sea of red. We waited patiently to push our way through the turnstiles and up the stairs onto the street. People rushed about in anticipation of the game. Street vendors sold T-shirts, devil horns, banners and flags. We fought off the face painters who were intent on covering us in Devils tattoos. As far as the eye could see, the streets were lit up by the little horns that perched on everyone’s heads.



City Hall Subway











We fought our way through the crowd and finally arrived at City Hall. The streets all around had been closed down, and people sat excitedly waiting for the game to begin. We took a seat in the middle of a crosswalk, and waited. I’m sure it sounds perfectly comfortable, but I can assure you- it was not. Reports vary as to the amount of people that actually crowded the streets that night- but estimates at City Hall rest around 2.5 million… the entire population of the city of Montreal. Crowds had also gathered at the Olympic Stadium, and the Mok-Dong Stadium- it is estimated that 10 million people made their way to these venues to watch the game. So picture if you will, two and a half million people sitting in the vicinity of a few large TVs. There was not much room. I sat with my legs curled up to my chest, and at one point sat on my feet because there was not enough room for my big butt.





Min, Sun (in white), Leslie, Me and Kristine- when we had room.








Korean bands stormed the stage, provoking the crowd to move forward to get a better view. And they tried. In true Korean fashion, common sense was lost to emotion for just a minute. Two and a half million people stood up, and rushed towards the stage, hoping to catch a glance of their beloved singers. We stubbornly kept our seats, until the crowd began to push back. They had run out of room towards the front and the crowd was losing control. We sat and watched the panic cross the faces of those standing around us. The women were almost in tears- mothers tried desperately to protect their children. In the sea of red, a young Korean man stood out in his blue Ontario Maple Leafs shirt. We got his attention and took a picture, leaving him to question what made him stand out amongst two and half million Koreans. Finally we had no choice but to stand, and in a moment we were all struggling to sit down in an orderly fashion. And we did. Those who had gotten separated from their friends in the mayhem made their way through the crowd barefoot, making efforts not to step on anyone. Fireworks filled the sky and the crowd chanted “Taehamingu” (Korea). Three enormous TVs surrounded us and the crowd cheered as we watched the players take to the field. Anytime a Korea gained possession of the ball, the crowd screeched excitedly and gasped when a player fell to the ground. They booed the odd Togo player who looked as though he may have been responsible for any particular Korean falling to their knees. When Togo scored the first goal, not a sound was heard in the streets.





Streets outside City Hall- packed with vendors and devil horns.








The whistle went for half time, and I watched, baffled, as the entire crowd stood up to walk around. I couldn’t do it again. I wasn’t up for this orderly mosh-pit madness. We looked to see if we might find a place less crowded to watch the last half of the game, but navigating the streets proved impossible. Thankfully Min’s husband, Sun had worn a white shirt, so he stood out amongst all the red and we were able to stay together. We gave up and made our way to the subway- realizing that it would be next to impossible to make it home after the game. Frantic text messages followed from Kristine- Korea had scored! Cheering broke out in the subway, and groups gathered around anyone with TV access on their cell phone. We were on the subway when we heard Korea had scored again. And walking through the relatively peaceful streets of Kkachisan, we saw every TV was tuned to the game. The shop people that we have come to know over the past months, greeted us excitedly as we passed by- nearly crying they were so happy. Make-shift theatres had been set up in the streets, with TVs hauled onto the sidewalk and groups of people watching the coverage.

Pre-game shot









The differences between Canada and Korea had never been more clear to me. As I looked down at my red shirt, the phrase Reds go together was written clearly across the front. And they do. Korea has a sense of patriotism and community that simply does not exist in Canada. In Canada, tempers rise in a crowd and no matter what the event, large crowds will always give way to fighting or drunken stupidities. But here in Korea, I was able to sit in the street and watch the game with an enormous crowd without worries of violence. The only concern, like I said, was that people would try to move around- as though unaware that it should be any more difficult than usual to navigate the streets in front of City Hall. My Korean co-workers grew frustrated with people trying to find their friends after the impromptu rush of the stage and encouraged people to sit down. But there was never an argument, only an exchange. But even the circumstances of the gathering would never happen in Canada. I can’t think of any event that could possibly draw so many people to one place. Even the wins in the Olympics aren’t greeted with the same sort of patriotism. Perhaps because so many Canadians feel they have two homes- Canada and their country of birth. Maybe because we are so few, stretched out over such a great distance. Within our own groups and clusters we find our own ways to celebrate- usually gathering at a friend’s place or a packed bar. But here the sense of community was overwhelming. And it saddened me a bit that we would probably never experience this in Canada. Perhaps the only event that I can recall in recent Canadian history would be the masses of Canadians who flew to Montreal for the referendum of 1995, hoping to persuade Quebeckers to vote No. Gathering out of desperation, I suppose. Maybe sports aren't as important to Canadians as national unity? Maybe we are so accustomed to watching our NHL and CFL teams battle it out that we've forgotten that these teams represent cities, and not all of Canada. Maybe we leave blatant shows of patriotism to our American neighbours, and hold on to our quiet, defensive Canadian pride.

As I picked up my copy of The Korea Herald the next morning, hoping to clip some memorable pictures of the crowd, a photo on the top left cover of the paper drew my attention. It was my own face staring back at me. As I flipped quickly thru the paper, I found the article about the show. Three more photos surrounded the article, and they even spelled my name right! Obviously I've been in the paper before for different shows- but there is something quite satisfying about making it into the issue that features articles about Korea's first World Cup win. Our little photo on the cover was one of two - the other picture being of the winning goal. We opened on Thursday night to a small audience. We screwed up a few times- I say we, but in reality I had nothing to do with it. Perfect, as always. Last night we played to an all - Korean audience that missed most of the jokes and remained politely quiet. And so our show this afternoon will count as our first real performance. I'm off to the theatre- a la prochaine!

Never Swim Alone

Dress Rehearsal - Never Swim Alone
Sean (Bill), Me (Ref), Ed (Frank)

It has officially been one year since I've been on stage, and I'm struggling to figure out how I feel about it. After Our Country's Good closed, I was unsure as to where I was headed with theatre, and recent experiences have only confused me further. Months ago I auditioned for a role with a foreigner's theatre company and was cast. The play is called Never Swim Alone, by Canadian playwright Daniel MacIvor. I was excited to be rehearsing again. It had been so long that I felt I was starting to lose my mind. I was excited because it would be my first production after graduating. I was excited because the role presented alot of challenges for me, but I was confident I could do it. I sat myself down a good while ago and had a long talk with my bad actor head and convinced her that since I had never failed at anything, she may as well stop telling me I would fail at this. I was excited to get on stage and start working, with this newfound enthusiasm and trust in my abilities. Unfortunately the periods of 'bad actor syndrome' come with the territory. There are few actors, or artists in any form- who haven't doubted their skills, their impulses or their creativity. It's not unique to me, but it's difficult to explain that to my bad actor head when she rears her ugly... head.

Swimming, swimming on the hard wood stage

Round 9: Power Lunch

At any rate, I have spent my week-ends for the last couple months at rehearsal for the show. There are two other actors, both men, both American. They seem very much alike, but they are not. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for my enthusiasm to fade away. I've become accustomed to a certain level of professionalism, it would seem. I have become accustomed to working with people who guide and coax you- help you to understand your role and the play. But here I found myself on my own. The director, Krista, greeted my questions with glares and disapproving looks. Or she'd simply read me the line again and again, as though simply hearing it repeated in an odd, shrill monotone would inspire my imagination. As though it weren't her job as the director to have some sort of vision and understanding of the play. And I still don't understand what is meant by "Act more like a 14 year old!" Do all fourteen year olds act the same? But I digress. I found myself frustrated. Or should I say find. I've managed to make sense of the play for myself- I probably couldn't articulate to someone else how I view my character, but she's there. As much as I've tried to work through the frustrations, some things stand in my way of working. I didn't have my props and set pieces until today- the dress rehearsal. I didn't have my costume- a bathing suit- until last week. But Krista seemed shocked when I said that having these elements made me feel as though I could start working. I'd become frustrated with the part, and with myself after weeks of stagnant rehearsals.

Moi- Sitting on my throne awaiting the beginning of rehearsal.

The play opens on Thursday and I feel like I've only had three real rehearsals and a lot of wasted week-ends. I am frustrated to the point that I don't have anything to say to the director, or the other actors. My bad actor head is coming back, with opening night looming only four days away. I have the first line of the play- and that scares me. Usually opening night I'm frozen with fear for my first five minutes on stage, this time I won't be easing myself in. And I wonder- why do I put myself through this? Why did I spend four years in school, mostly frustrated with the other students and the profs? Why do I continue to push myself to do this? I feel as though I should pack it in and end this sillyness now before it becomes a long, frustrating career... but then I know I've said that after every show. What is it about this work that makes me want to come back? All actors have different reasons for being on stage, and many are there because it's a guaranteed way of getting attention. For me, I appreciate that it helps me grow as a person- in each role I'm challenged to look at myself and see for real, who I am. But is this enough to keep me in a line of work that means committing to a life of poverty? Does it mean working alongside people like Krista for the duration of my career? Krista, who seems to believe that I am who I am for no other reason than to make her angry. If anyone is wondering why my parents thought ahead and sent me to French school, it was so that Krista would become embarrased and accuse me of showing off when she demonstrated for her boyfriend how poorly she could speak French. And therein lies the real issue- I am fairly sure that the immaturity surrounding our relationship stems from insecurity around her relationship to her boyfriend. She's afraid I'm going to steal him away. Hide him in my sock drawer, shelter his ears from her shrill voice and horrid Edmontonian accent, and then toss him back into her ginormous hands once I've finished with him. Women hate other women for so many reasons, and it usually has little to do with who they are, and more to do with the way they look. And so I've been labelled a threat- painted across my forehead and treated with disdain because of the imagined possibility that I might suddenly realize (after four years) that I do not in fact love Fred, but it is our migguk friend Sean who is the object of my affection. Please (she says with dripping sarcasm). The ridiculousness of the situation frustrates me to the point that I have difficulty speaking when she's around. My head fumes as I overhear her trying to show me up in this contest that I won long ago, simply by not competing. Or feeling the need to.

Me, Sean and Ed- Cast of Never Swim Alone

Our space - Kkamang Theatre in Hyehwa, Seoul

The only source of sanity and encouragement that I have had in this process has come from the actors and director of the other show that will go up just before us. I've had more useful direction and advise from Craig, and our brief talks about the play have helped me to make sense of the script in some way. He is the sort of director that is insightful and easy to work with, professional and laid back. It's too bad we didn't really get to work together. As a side, I have to credit him for the photos, they're stolen off his blog...

The show will open on Thursday, with one show Friday, two on Saturday and two on Sunday. Same thing the following week. I hope to find in these performances the reasons that I fell in love with theatre. One of the best profs I had at Concordia used to say that theatre was like a drug- in the beginning you get really high no matter what, but as time goes on, it takes more and more to satisfy you. And it's true. I have come to expect more of myself and from the productions I'm involved in, but it seems that my greatest asset can also be my greatest hindrance. I'm smart. I read the play and I understand it- I pick up quickly on the subtleties of the text, but when others fail to do the same- it infuriates me. Is this perhaps another challenge that theatre presents to me? Finding in myself the patience to accept that everyone is at a different place and needs to work in different ways? Or is it time to call it quits and head back to school, aiming to work in a field that I feel less passionately about? Is it time that I realize what I want and why? Time to settle on a direction, instead of sitting on the fence? Once again, applications are now being accepted for the role of official decision maker. Please include with your application examples of suggestions that you would make should you be engaged in this position. Thank you. Wish me Merde!

Observations of a Young Mind

My father tells me that the first sentence I ever spoke was "Get me out of this prison!" And it seems that it was screamed from the confines of my crib, rather than mumbled quietly to myself. It makes me wonder... at what age do our personalities begin to take shape? Do observations we have as children impact who we become as adults? I've never taken well to authority figures, of any form. The bars of a crib could definetely represent authority and instill a feeling of being trapped. Some people fail to recognize that they're trapped, others are hyper-aware of it. I fit into the latter category. As soon as I begin to feel that I don't have options, I feel emotionally suffocated. I've encountered this feeling again and again, but for some reason, it keeps coming back. Were these cries from the crib an early sign of where my values would lie? An indication of how I would view the world?

My family had some rough years. In fact, many of the years were rough. I'll spare you the details, but here's the basics. My parents separated when I was fourteen. As the oldest child, I was cast in the role of official go-between. To complicate the situation, I was also placed in the precarious role of third parent to Tyler and Travis. Circumstances being what they were, I fought alot. With everyone. I was without an ally, it seemed. Tyler and Travis has each other, but I was the odd man out. I wasn't a parent and wasn't a kid. At any rate, fighting insued with Mom, then with Dad. During high school, I bounced back and forth between their houses, depending on who I was less angry with. And I felt trapped. I felt I had outgrown some of the roles I was being asked to play, but was too young for others. How can you impose a curfew on the third parent? In many ways, I felt I had outgrown high school after grade ten. My preoccupations were different than the people who surrounded me. I wanted to move out on my own. I had grown up, but my age was holding me back. I still had to put in three years in high school, despite the fact that I felt ready to move on. Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't- it's hard to say. My memories of my high school years are hazy... as are most of my memories. Grade twelve ended, and I moved out. I felt free, casting away the invisible bars that had kept me at home longer than I cared to stay. But then I began to see them in other places. Calgary began to feel too small, too clausterphobic. It seemed there wasn't enough space, not enough variety. I felt trapped by my options. I was studying theatre, but felt uninspired by my surroundings. Calgary and I differed in values. Calgary is a good fit for business people, but is still a stretch for artists. At least for young, idealistic artists. I thought theatre had powerful potential and should be used to change and challenge. But before changing the world, I needed to know what to challenge. I wasn't sure what about Calgary no longer fit, but I was feeling trapped. Then one day I was on the train coming back from school, and there were two young men, only a couple years older than me, dressed in suits and talking about their life insurance policies. And it occured to me that this was why Calgary no longer fit. I didn't ever want to talk about life insurance. My apologies to anyone who feels passionately about the insurance industry, but I can't imagine anything more boring. I didn't want to live in a sprawling urban city where people commuted downtown only to work, and then returned immediately to their castles in the suburbs. I didn't want to shop at the Gap or eat at Red Lobster, but it seemed other options were few and far between. What were my options? It suddenly hit me- I needed to leave. Just as I had done after graduating high school, I packed up my things and moved.

I arrived in Montreal and felt refreshed, excited. But my first year in Montreal was painfully difficult and I remember returning to Calgary for Christmas, not wanting to leave. But soon things began to change. The things that had trapped me in Calgary were absent in Montreal. When I arrived, the only Starbucks there was in Chapters. Many big chain restaurants didn't want to bother with the complications of Bill 101 (law restricting the use of the English language), so they never came to Montreal. Montreal is proudly free of Red Lobster, Olive Garden, 7-11 and other such American chains. It was exactly what I needed. Second only to New York for restaurants per capita, Montreal has an overwhelming number of choices, and most are family-owned. In fact, Red Lobster closed down in Quebec years ago because they were unable to compete with family-owned restaurants that offered better food at lower prices. Far from the apathy of the University of Calgary, Concordia students protested everything. There were posters in the hallways encouraging people to vote against a 60 cent raise per credit in fees. Coming from a school that was steadily increasing their tuition by a couple hundred dollars a year and no one complained, I loved the activity. Until one day I skipped class because there were snipers on the roof of my school. Sometimes political activity goes too far, which is something I never would have admitted in my pre-Concordia days. But I was feeling trapped here too. When I'd gone to school in Alberta, the government had handed me a big cheque in September and told me not to bother them until the following year. In Quebec, they sent tiny cheque after tiny cheque- consistently late and never quite enough. I finally found a job at a restaurant in the Old Port and lasted there for a year and a half. But when you're paying Quebec tax, a minimum wage restaurant job plus tips will leave you with enough to buy a coffee, if you're lucky. I was tired of making choices out of necessity. I didn't want to turn down auditions because I couldn't afford to miss a day of work at my bad job. So I moved to Korea.

Land of the Morning Calm. And so it is- morning is just about the only time things are calm here. My new life in Korea promised stability- paid accomodations, cheap bills and a good paying job. With money in the bank, I suddenly have options. I can save it, spend it on new toys, travel or pay back my student loans (but that's as boring as life insurance). There are so many options! Here I am, immersed in a different culture and learning more and more about myself and the world. I am living by myself for the first time. Over the last seven months, I've begun feeling like I'm coming up to decision time. At some point soon, I'll have to decide what I want to do with my life. Maybe that was the real reason I felt out of place in Calgary- everyone seemed to know what they were doing. I still haven't quite figured it out. The very thought of returning to a customer service job makes me ill. I'm experiencing a quarter life crisis here. I understand why people move to Korea and never go home. What are we going home to? Proud as we are of what we have in Canada, I think much of it comes about in media manipulation. Our health care system is not as good as we think it is. Who cares if it's free? It's just not good. Korean health care costs 25$ a month and includes cheap trips to the dentist. My friend had her wisdom teeth pulled for 7$. Once a month when it's time for me to pay my cell phone bill, I walk into the LG store and slap 10$ on the table- and I have to admit that I'm always slightly annoyed that I have to pay it at all. Going home will a rude awakening for me. But as the weather heats up- and the air- hot, humid and heavy with pollution becomes thicker and thicker I reach for my summer clothes. Then I remember that wearing a tank top will find me in the prostitute category for all those Korean men not accustomed to seeing exposed shoulders. And I already draw enough attention and unwanted conversation, so instead I put on T-Shirts and dream of cool days in Montreal. My co-workers question me as to why I'm not married, as though there's something wrong with me. Their goal is to find a man and they look at me with pity because I'm living alone. They can't understand why I would leave Canada without my boyfriend- and probably secretly suspect he doesn't exist. After all, no Korean woman would leave her boyfriend behind. And so here I also feel trapped. Trapped by customs and beliefs that go back centuries. I feel trapped in my job- many of the elements guaranteed me in my contract, have been ignored. In Canada, I wouldn't hesitate to throw a tantrum and storm out the door. But here, my employer pays my apartment. Storming out the door means I lose my 2500$ contract bonus, my plane ticket home, and my damage deposit. En plus, I need written permission from my boss to get another job in Korea. I'm stuck. But I've made it almost eight months, and only have another four ahead of me. I just happened to land myself a bad job and didn't act fast enough. I should have quit in December, but I was pacing my demands and now I don't have a choice. And it drives me nuts. I'm counting down to the end of my contract, even though it's going to be hard to leave Korea- I can't wait to be finished with my boss. I have never before felt so trapped, because in this case, there really are no choices. Turning him into immigration also means the loss of all my bonuses, so I'm forced to keep my mouth shut and count down the days. I've never been good at keeping my mouth shut... here's hoping I can do it for just another four and a half months.
The experiences I've had in Calgary, Montreal and now in Seoul have all taught me something about myself. All signs seem to be pointing towards working for myself. I can't handle authority, therefore I can't handle a boss. I'm beginning to think that what I do to make money is less important to me than the lifestyle that I enjoy. I think I would be perfectly happy doing almost anything- so long as I made my own schedule and don't have to abide by someone else's rules. As long as I never have to put on another uniform, or sit near a cubicle wall. Because the uniform and the cubicle walls are just like the bars that held me in my crib. Designed to keep you in- to keep you looking and behaving in a certain way. The uniform, the cubicles- they're dehumanizing, generic and fighting to keep you looking and acting in a way that the company has deemed appropriate. They encourage you to feel as though you're part of a team, but insist that you keep your workspace and your uniform free of personal items- anything that gives a hint of an existence outside the confines of the work environment. After all, we wouldn't want you feeling too comfortable here.