People usually drink when they are happy or when they are sad. I was going to say something overtly poignant like “drinking is a condition of the extreme,” but that would be incorrect, as melancholy is neither, and has become the impetus for my current state of affairs. I have decided that drinking alone does not make me an alcoholic.
I thought about calling people to drink. But alas, there is but one number stored in my phone here in Seoul, and it is the one number I do not want to call. Infatuation is only a temporary thing right?
I made the decision today to carry my pack of cigarettes everywhere I go as I never know when I may need them. Buying a bottle of Soju at the corner store down below my apartment; the Konglish speaking attendant who I’ve had many encounters with asks me if I like Soju, and if so, how much I could drink. Never afraid of hyperbole, I told him that tonight I would limit it to one or two, but on the weekend I might hit three or four. He seemed impressed at my drinking ability and told me that he wants to drink with me sometime. I hope he does. It would be an event.
“I am used to being one of the smarter people in the room,” I told her. “But here I feel kind of dumb, since I never know what anybody is saying.” She empathized and we talked about our cultural mishaps and mistakes. I can not read her. I can not read anybody of a different culture. My mind is to entrenched in western back and forth, and the games we play to really understand anybody. Is this my bad trip? Am I just seeing it the wrong way?
Drinking always helps.
I need perspective. I need cultural awareness. I need to transcend and find my nitch. I’ve always wanted to stand out. And now? I live in a culture that depends on conformity…seriously, what the hell was I thinking?