So, I’m a ball of anxiety.

So, I'm a ball of anxiety. This shouldn't be news to anyone. Anyway, Alysha and I happen to have the day off together. Alysha suggested we listen to Joshua McClain during his cello hour. He has started doing this during quarantine; he plays cello for an hour of music and mindfulness. 

Lord knows, I need this. 

Coming into The Age of ‘Rona, I was having weekly panic attacks. It was a super fun time. I was taking on too much and not allowing myself to make mistakes. I wasn’t sleeping because I was replaying every moment of the day before I could rest. I had just settled on making a therapist appointment, then BAM, ‘Rona hit. No one was, obviously, taking new clients. Truthfully, I haven’t done the work in the time given to me. I am now just a less stressed ball of anxiety. So, looking forward to how that will play out when school starts in three weeks. 

March

As cases in Wisconsin started piling up, I was devastated by the senseless loss of human life. In all honesty, at the beginning of this, I was not worried. I thought we would be able to get it under control much more quickly than we did. I thought, for a moment, there was an acceptable loss rate (less than X%; it’s fine). But, as I thought more deeply about it, I was ashamed that I could have, even for a moment, accept any loss. 

April

In April, as people in Wisconsin gathered in the Capitol to overturn Governor Evers’ executive orders, I was so angry. Masks aren’t taking away anyone’s rights. They protect others from a potentially fatal disease. Like, how do I get you to care about humanity? How do you not care that people are dying and having long-term side effects of having their lungs turned into a sieve? How do you not care? 

We started school again in a more scheduled and specific way in April. I was able to see my young people via the internet, and we began to process this global trauma together. How could I expect my kids to turn in work when they are constantly worried about things so far out of their control? I am supposed to be a rock for these kids--an adult from whom they seek advice. I am a pebble, at most. All I could tell them is how much I love them and would rather be with them. But, for their health and mine, we are on opposite sides of the screen. 

Early Summer

Then, in May and June, a neo-Civil Rights Movement waged non-non-violent and peaceful protests and marches across the world. Again, how could anyone stand in support of the police officer who murdered George Floyd and the officers who watched and did nothing. I had to decide that Human Rights are more important than my fear of the virus. I justified to people in my circle that even though schools, businesses, and churches are closed, the marches must happen. There is no online version of Civil Rights. 

These marches have continued. They must continue. There is not equality in this country.  How do I make people care about others? How do I make people see that when they say “All Lives Matter” that includes Black people...specifically, right now?  As a middle school teacher, I (usually) have a deep well of patience. But, my God, I have zero patience for people who do not care about humanity.

Early in the quarantine, a friend posted, “Hey, how are my empaths doing?” The answer is not well. I am not well. I am scared, sad, locked up inside my own head. I am so worried about everything all the time--things so far out of my control. I am a cog in a machine--a machine that is breaking. Our nation is crumbling and I can’t do anything about it. Sure, I can vote, I can make sure others vote, I can march, I can teach kindness, but all of that feels so inconsequential.  

Late Summer

Then, late July and early August rolled around. All of those accolades teachers received in April, May, and June have disappeared. Again, teachers are the villains of the story. Many parents have not been in a classroom for a long, long time. They have this idyllic version of what “school” is like. If we return full in person or hybrid, school will not look like what they want. Parents don’t want their kids to return to “school.” They want their kids to return to normalcy. They want a sliver of their kids’ day to feel like it did. But, I promise you, it will feel almost more alien than virtual learning. 

School has massively changed since we’ve been in school. Desks are rarely in rows. Group projects have become the norm. School is no longer just a place of academic learning. It is a home where children learn how to be humans, where children get fed, where children have an adult that will love them regardless of their behavior. School has become a social safety net because of all of the other societal bullshit (inequitable housing, poverty, unlivable wages). 

Schools have carried this burden, and we do so with very little complaints. I don’t know a single teacher who became a teacher for the pay. We do it because we love children, and we want to give them the stability they need to succeed. If children return to school, their school day will look so different than it was and the in-person schooling because we cannot share pencils, markers,  worksheets, or even space. They are going to do most of their work online anyway.  

Reopening schools comes down to an acceptable death rate. A lot of the memes I see flying around are that only X% of children will contract it. Or, the survival rate is X%. What people fail to realize is that their child could be that X%.  

Parents are working under the assumption that their kid won’t get it, but it’s okay if someone else’s kid gets it. And, that is what sickens me the most. How do I get people to care about human life? How do I get people to care at all? America’s rugged individualism, me-first mentality has gotten us into this mess, and its persistence has kept us here. 

Timeless

This all leads me to my main point. No one is immune to this virus. My “pod” has done everything right. We have worn masks. We have kept distant from one another. We have not gotten together with large groups of friends. And, still, someone in my pod contracted COVID. I had a moment when I envisioned the world without this person in it. I envisioned that someone I love was no longer here. Our pod had just been together. This person worried about whom they may have given it to. Was I safe? Were the others in our pod safe? Were the people with whom they came into contact safe? This person is on the mend and doing well. And, everyone in our pod has all tested negative for COVID. Luckily for us, the emotional toll that a positive diagnosis took was more painful than the physical. However, not everyone is so lucky. 

Think of someone you love deeply and without abandon. Think of the world without them in it. Tell me, is that an acceptable loss to you? Is there any acceptable loss? 

Our world has been in turmoil. I would like to say its only been in turmoil since January, but honestly, it has been in turmoil for much, much longer. It was in turmoil when the Egyptians held Jewish people as slaves.. It was in turmoil as Europe colonized the world. It was in turmoil when millions of African people were kidnapped and sold as property. It was in turmoil when American slavery shifted from cotton fields to prison labor. It was in turmoil when White people patted each other on the back the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Fair Housing Act of 1968 were passed. We ended racism, right?  

In America, we are in turmoil. 

We are witnessing the slow death of democracy as our president is trying to steal the election.

AGAIN. 

Our GDP has dropped 32.9% since March. 

We are in a second wave of Civil Rights movements. 

We are dying from a pandemic because people are equating their opinion with expertise. 

We are trying to keep it together, and we are failing miserably.  

We are a nation in crisis. 

I beg you, please, take a moment and care about humanity.  Because, I, honestly, don’t know what else to do. 

So, it has been about a week

Remember the shooting in Orlando? It was the one six-ish days ago. It was in a gay night club on Latin night? I'm just reminding you because we've become desensitized. It's been, like, twelve hours since someone tweeted their thoughts and prayers. When you scroll through your facebook newsfeed, you're back to how much of a train wreck this presidential election is or, you know, puppy videos. You might've already forgotten. So, I just wanted to hearken back to this event that I learned about 48 hours after the fact because I just wanted a weekend without technology. 

I'm angry. And sad. And angry and sad and angry and sad. But, mostly angry. 

I'd like to draw your attention to the fact that these shootings are no longer isolated incidents of terror. We are a country who lives in terror. We're so afraid of our own shadow. We're allowed to carry concealed weapons to use whenever something spooks us. We cry "self-defense," and all is forgiven. If you wacky liberals take away our rights to own guns, America will go straight to hell in a hand basket.

Guess what, Team America, we're already there. We live in a country that's so star spangled awesome that there was an average of 92.05 gun related deaths per day in 2014. President Obama has had to address the American public 15 times in response to mass shootings. We've normalised death. We've normalised terror. We've allowed gun rights lobbyists to usher us into a country of complacency. And we have done nothing. We've sat idly by while the entire country goes through the motions: outrage, profile picture changes, rabble-rousing statuses, flags at half mast, mild anger, new cute profile pic with a baby, #foodporn, flags fly high, complacency, comfort in knowing it could never happen here. Then, boom, another fucker with something to prove and nothing to lose gets his hands on a military grade weapon and shoots up a space of safety.

And, this, this is what breaks my heart. You wanna know the first thing my students in Korea asked me when they learned I was from America? They asked me if I knew how to shoot people. Not 'how to shoot a gun,' not 'if I owned a gun,' but if I know how to use a gun to inflict pain on another human being. What am I supposed to say to that? How do I even respond? I said, "No, no I don't. I don't know how people hurt each other like that." Their response: "It makes me sad, Kathryn Teacher." It makes me sad, too. 

This is, of course, a multi-faceted problem. But, I would really love it if the gun wielding politicians actually worked on the mental health issues on which they blame all gun related deaths. Or, take a hot second to remember that we are a country founded on immigrants. Or, figure out that the most recent radical terrorist attack in Orlando was a dude born and raised in the United States who believes in a bastardization of the Islamic faith. His relationship to Islam is akin to the Westboro Baptist Church's relationship to Christianity. It is outrageous and inappropriate. 

As a gay person, it would be remiss of me to overlook the location and perceived reason of the Orlando shooting. Gay clubs, like so many have said before me, serve as a place of solace, comfort, release of the constant tension gay people hold. Personally, I have a difficult time expressing my sexuality in public. Don't get me wrong, my rock-a-doodle haircut and proclivity towards Oxfords and trousers clearly show that I am gay, but I don't express myself as a sexual being for fear of making others uncomfortable. This is my problem, I know. But, in gay spaces, I can relax enough to show the kind of public affection that straight people so often take for granted. 

And, on Saturday night, as Latin night just started to heat up, a man disgusted with the idea of two men kissing rampaged through Pulse, flat lining 49 heart beats. 

Some cry, "Terrorism-an affront to the US." Period. Full stop. But, I shout, "Hate crime--an affront to the queer community." You cannot erase us from this history. I refuse. I am angry. I am angry about the social environment in which gay people are less than. I am angry about the erasure of mental health issues. I am angry about toxic masculinity. I am angry about people doing hate in the name of their god. I am angry about how fucking easy it is to acquire firearms whose sole purposes are to kill. I am so, so angry.  

It would be naive of me to think that there would ever be a total recall of firearms in the United States. We'd have to pry the second amendment from the NRA's cold dead hands. But, there is absolutely no reason that a citizen needs an assault rifle. There is no reason that citizens needs a weapon that discharges 600 rounds of ammunition per minute. There is no reason you should be able to purchase a firearm without showing identification. There is no reason you can purchase an AK47 at walmart.com for fifty dollars and twenty-five cents...don't worry, though, it's free shipping. There is no reason for this. Absolutely no reason.







 

So, I am a super graceful human being

One: Back Story

My sister is one of my best friends. We had some rough patches growing up, but we always sorted it out. I think one of the few times my sister got legitimately angry for more than a day was when our dad said that I was more graceful than she was (he meant in a specific context, but that part was unclear at the time). And, she had every right to be upset. The only time I was ever graceful in my youth was when I was mid-air after jumping from a diving board. For those few seconds twisting and flipping, I was a gosh darn swan-gazelle: a swazelle. Any other second of the day, I tripped, slipped, slid, toppled, and was generally a hot mess.

I would like to say that growing into my limbs and becoming an adult has helped with my balance and body awareness. But, that really just isn’t the case. Just today, I literally hit three different kids in the face because I didn’t know where my body ended and theirs began. It was just soft taps, but alarming contact nonetheless.

Two: Real Story

So, for the past several months, my roommate and I have had a lovely houseguest. I have really enjoyed spending time with him and having that brother-like relationship I always wanted. However, with having more people living in the house and Rufio seeking more attention, I hadn’t been alone in ages. So, when I went to Seoul to visit my cousin, I decided to go up a day early, spend some time in a JimJilBahng (spa/sauna/JJB for the rest of this writing), and soak in silence and mineral enriched mountain water.

I got to Seoul, walked all over Kingdom Come to find this specific JJB about which I’d heard great reviews. After about forty minutes of walking, I found that it is about three blocks directly behind Seoul Station and the googlemaps app sucks.

I checked into the spa and changed out of my travel wear and went downstairs to frolick in the tubs before they closed for the night.

I effing love baths.

After a quick bath with a bunch of strangers, I changed into my pyjamas, went to the sleeping rooms, and found a cozy nook in which I snuggled with my book.

In the morning, I woke up late and had to hurry to meet my cousin. I had to shower because when I go to sleep with wet hair, I wake up looking like a glorious lioness, which is fine for some occasions, but not for cousin meeting.

So, I showered quickly, and left the rooms with all the baths.

(Sidenote for anyone not in Korea: When you are in the showers/baths you are nakey-no pants and the towels you’re meant to use are the size of a postage stamp.)

I walked to the drying area and toweled my hair like you would a puppy. I vigorously dried my arms, and bent one leg to rest on the other. As I patted down my knee cap, I felt my notoriously awful balance quiver. Oh no, I thought. This will be problematic. 

And, there was no stopping it.  

I tumbled ass over tea-kettle, naked, in public…onto another human being.

One more time:

Ass. Tea-kettle. Naked. Stranger.

I profusely apologized while extricating our limbs, repeating, “Oh, my god. I am so sorry. Oh, my god. Mian habnida. Oh, my god. I am so, so sorry.”

The only thing this tiny woman said throughout this whole encounter with giant eyes about two inches from my own, “I’m fine. Thank you. And, you?”

I helped her up, then ran away as fast as I possibly could. I mean, how else do you respond to that? I had no idea. No pretext. Nothing. I just left. There is no recovering from that. I just couldn’t even.

So, my hope is that someday I will learn how to not be a bumbling Magoo. But, lesbihonest, that future for me looks pretty bleak.

So, I bitch-slapped a jellyfish

I mean there's more to the story.  Although, just keeping it at that could be fun, too.

Anyway, so this past weekend, I went to Geoje to hang out with one of my friends who will be leaving soon.  I left my high school and walked to the subway station.  I grabbed some food at Shinsegae, because Mama's gotta have something in her tummy.

As I was eating my orange sesame chicken on the terrace, I spotted a gaggle of way-gooks come up the escalator.  Now, there are two different types of way-gooks in Busan.  The word "bunch" describes group one.  Whereas, "gaggle" can only describe group two...and geese.

Type 1.  The seasoned Busan-ite who either lives or works here.  You can tell who these people are by the giant hiking back pack OR no pack at all, sandals or flats, and a subtle awareness of knowing we are foreign. 
Type:2. These people have their Nikons hanging round their neck, money belts not so skillfully disguised under loose fitting Hawaiian shirts, tennis shoes, and a complete lack of awareness that they are the other OR complete and utter awareness that they are the other.  Both responses have them swiveling their heads from side to side like that rollie chair that your mom had for her office that you weren't allowed to sit in because you'd break it.  Yeah, that one.


Right.  So, this gaggle of way-gooks crosses my vantage point.  It was a hilarious moment.  I watched as 4 middle aged couples maneuver the escalator.  They stood right at the top of the escalator to decide what they would do next.  While stopped, Koreans ninja-ed around them, throwing scowls and natural bemusement at these people who cannot figure out how to handle themselves. Several threw furtive glances my way, and as I was about to walk over to help them out, no shit out of my seat, one woman tossed her hands in the air, turned on her heal, and entered the basement of Shinsegae.  Everyone shrugged their shoulders and followed her. 

Now, the revolving door at Shinsegae is huge.  Each of the three partitions could probably fit Clay Matthews, AJ Hawke and Ryan Grant comfortably.  But, in the States, the revolving doors are so small, you go through one at a time.  So, each of these people wait for their own partitions, much to the chagrin of all the Koreans queuing behind them.  After about 1 minute 30 seconds, the whole gaggle is in the store (the first woman impatient as all hell).  Then, the Koreans start piling through the revolving door 4-6 at a time.  On the other side of the glass, the way-gooks face palmed at the ingenuity of going more than one at a time.  They all guffawed about their silliness, while everyone else was plotting different ways to kill them, and I just quietly giggled.

That was the start to this adventure.  I took a subway and then a bus to Geoje.  I have been so immersed in my book that I took in absolutely zero surroundings.  When I disembark (which is seriously the antonym for embark....I thought it was too clunky, but alas, Thesaurus.com never lies, right?) the bus, I spot my friend Louis.  We wait at the bus stop for our friend, Daphne, to collect us. 

Daphne arrives with a tag-team of awesome Jenna and Jen.  We fuel up and catch the next bus to Gujora Beach.  When I commented to Daphne, "Oh, wow, there is a lot of coast here."  She sort of looked at me like a corgi always looks--head tilted to the side--, and said, "Well, Katie, it is an island." 

It was at this point that I mumbled and looked away.  It was a comical moment.

Our bus snaked around the island for about 45 minutes.  We passed giant shipyards and sunken beaches.  Finally, we arrive at the last stop.  We just had to cross over a ridge, go through a mildly sketchy part of town, then descend to the beach.

Once there, 3/5 of us went into the water.  I am a sucker for water.  I feel like Poseidon could have been my father.  I went in and under right away.  The salt water burned my eyes, my throat, my hair.  It was such an amazing feeling.  Jen, Daphne, and I swam out towards a smaller island in the distance.  About halfway, Daphne bid us adieu, and it was game time for Jen and I.

We didn't know each other, really at all.  We had met briefly, and I was super intimidated by this woman.  She is tall, beautiful, and fabulous.  The middle-schooler in me shrank back in fear that she wouldn't like me, but the adventure seeker in me said, "Put a sock in it, Insecurities.  I wanna go to that island."

We started swimming towards this island.  It was about 500-700 meters away depending on the diagonal.  I had been rocking the lifeguard approach stroke, but then my arms felt like they were going to fall off, so I switched to breast stroke.

Jen and I were talking about life experiences and whatever one talks about while swimming to a rocky shore.  I commented about how amazingly blue the water is.  About 130 meters from the shore, I could still see my feet as if I were looking through glass.  I pushed into the glide motion (rocket ship) of breast stroke, and I smacked into something less solid than rock, but more solid than water.  I looked down into the water and it looked like a clear swim cap full of water. 

It took me a split second to register that clear swim caps do not hang out in salt water.  Then, I screamed--like a child.  I freaked the hell out.  With a chorus of "Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!" I sputtered over towards Jen.  I explained that I just bitch-slapped a jelly fish in the face and that I was terrified that she would get her tentacle-y revenge.

She said, "Oh, yes, Gujora is known for their jellyfish population."

"Budegabah! What? Now is the time y'all let me know?  Aw, shoot."

At this time, we were only about 100 meters from the island, and I was too skeered to go back and face the Jelly, so we pressed on.

I am so glad we did, because we finally reached the island and pulled ourselves up on the rocks over the zebra mussels.  (Neat! Now I have blood to attract the sharks that are just jonesin for my sweet Wisconsin blood.) We scrambled about this giant rock pile, taking in the greatness that surrounded us.  The isthmus of land, the other bay, and the mountains enclosed us in this perfect time and place. 

As we surveyed our landing, we spied two sea caves.  We had to cross a small water path to get onto that island. Jen and I found a pretty good spot to start climbing this rock face (a solid 10 meters off of the water).  We boulder scrambled over to the caves and just took in their abyssal beauty.  We wanted to swim in them, but then decided against it for fear of being swept with the tide.


As we traversed back to shore, we simply marveled at what we accomplished.  I thought of the privileged life I live surrounded by so much fantastic beauty.  It really makes me think of how humans can possibly make something so amazing more perfect.  Then, I realized, we can't.

So, I came to a very important realization today

It was that everybody, absolutely everybody looks like a drunken sailor on the bus.  You could be the most austere gentleman, an eight month pregnant woman, or even a strapping young student.  You will still look like you are 3/4 of the way in the bag, and there is nothing you can do about it.  EXCEPT! You can pray to whatever God in which you believe (or the trees/grass/Bob Marley, whatever) that there is a seat open close to the front so you do not have to stumble through the bus as it lurches forward in its ever changing waves.  You can also hope that someone will take pity on you, but that is a doubtful scenario, and you will just be setting yourself up for failure.  Like Stephenie Meyer. Or the Hindenburg.