Journal Excerpts

Day 14 - 2012.7.16

Went palace-hopping at Gwanghwamun this morning. It was me, Janelle, and Pang, and we met Amanda at the station. The day was bright and hot and kids were playing at the time-sequenced fountains in front of Emperor Sejong’s statue. We missed the changing of the guard when we entered the gate, but saw it on the way out after touring the enclosed buildings of the palace. There was a nice moment of reprieve when we sat in front of one of the structures, snacking on sweet peaches, the blinding sun looming overhead.

Later the girls went to do some shopping and I decided to wander around a bit on my own. Having zero Korean language background, I've never felt so helpless as being on my own during this trip. Hangul’s windowed matrices of circular inscriptions make no conceivable impressions on my mind. But somehow I managed pretty well today.

I made a shoddy paper lotus at Jogyesa Temple with other Americans – English teachers, the lot of them. I didn't know I could be so terribly inept at arts and crafts. Theirs were so prim and proper, layers of colors so complimentary arranged. Meanwhile mine was a dilapidated mess, drooping almost flaccid from straining the paper to keep it intact. Later I hung it on my bedpost at the hostel.

An old man with wisps of silver hair falling to the sides of his head gave us a tour. With his weakening voice he mused to us regarding the topic of reincarnation, or rather how one can escape the cycle of birth, life, death, and rebirth.

“Anybody can be Buddha. He can be Buddha. Even she can be Buddha. We do not discriminate. You can be Buddha, too.”

All this while the murmuring chant of monks and temple-goers emanated from within the main hall, mourning some newly deceased, I think.

“Me? I shall die. I shall die. I shall die.”

-

Wandered around Changgyeonggung Palace in the afternoon. Couldn't afford the “Secret Garden” tour, but I found a secret spot of my own up on a hill in the woods, through a red door in a gate that was meant to be closed. But that goes against the purpose of a door.

I snacked on trail mix – emergency rations I've learned to carry with me everywhere – and watched the sunlight gleaming atop the intricately layered tile roofs. A breeze rustled the leaves on the trees surrounding me, and I could hear the wispy-haired man’s voice trailing, crying virtue in the wind. And I wondered how many times I've died already, and how many more times I'll need to.