Category: Where you are nobody

Wednesday, 18 March 1998

I recently became acutely aware, once again, of certain patterns in my life: my parents’ financial situation, my own financial history, my increasing paranoia about the harassment and possibly prosecution I am facing because of unpaid debt.*

A different idea nevertheless struck me like a bolt of lightning out of the clear blue sky: The last seven or eight years I have had some exceptional opportunities to understand things. This includes theology, history, politics, psychology and most recently, economics.

If I wanted to make a case about my unenviable personal experiences of financial difficulty, the legal troubles one faces because of debt, and the effects these things have on your self-esteem and confidence, I wouldn’t have to spend a lot of time arguing the case. But I can certainly also make an alternative case about the opportunities that I’ve had so far, and still have, to understand things.

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* By this date, I had learned from the bank that held my student loan that I had to start paying back my loan fairly rapidly if I wanted to avoid some very unpleasant consequences.

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Sunday, 15 March 1998

I sometimes see myself as a former monk who’s lost his faith – or one whose religion has lost him, and who is now searching for a meaningful existence in secular life.

I am, however, not yet fully immersed in this “new” life. I’m unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, with some of the ways of this world, especially compared to people who have lived their entire adult lives in secular society.

* * *

Compared to most people I know here, I’m not a big success as a so-called backpack traveller. As they travel from one country to another, discovering interesting places first-hand, I prefer to set up camp in one place for a while and work my way through a pack of newspapers on a Sunday afternoon.

A little pathetic, maybe? Why? There’ll always be people who have done more than you, who have seen more than you, who have met more and crazier people than you, and who have done more and stranger things in more countries, and in more exotic countries than you.

I shouldn’t try to follow in other people’s footsteps just because I think my way of living is less impressive than theirs.

Stop competing with other people, I say. Do what you find suitable for yourself and what you like. If not for a better reason, do it because then you won’t have to measure yourself up to other people and in the process finding yourself too light, while that criterion is only one out of a million.

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Background:

1. EPIK was the government organisation that recruited English teachers for public schools in Korea. Nationality was of paramount importance; South Africans did not qualify. I knew that before applying, but I still took a chance.

2. The hot water system in Korea works with oil that needs to be refilled every few weeks. Mrs Kim – the homeowner – and I made turns paying for the oil.

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Tuesday, 24 February 1998

On Monday, 16 February, I called the EPIK office. The woman categorically declared that I was not acceptable to the program. I was slightly relieved.

On Thursday, 19 February, Mr John Lee from Top Language Institute paid a visit to my school to inform me that I will work for him two hours a day starting from March. I wondered about the compensation, seeing that by March I would strictly be owing my school two hours a day.

On Sunday, 22 February, I had a great day in Seoul with two other expats. We visited the one place in Korea I would have regretted not visiting – the DMZ [Demilitarised Zone] between North and South Korea.

Yesterday, Monday, 23 February, I was in an antagonistic mood. I didn’t have any hot water – again, and I wanted to know about the Top affair. I decided to talk directly with Mrs Kim. She said “if I wanted” I could work for Top for two hours a day; it’s “okay” with her. I asked how much I would get for the classes. She replied, ₩200,000 [$200] per month. That is ₩200,000 for forty hours, which works out at ₩5,000 [$5] per hour. I told her: “I happen to know Mr Lee pays ₩15,000 per hour. What’s happening to the other ₩10,000?” I calculated that the deal is worth ₩600,000 per month (according to how much Lee pays his other teachers), of which I will only be getting ₩200,000. The table is set. I’m pissed off.

To crown everything, I’m told it’s my turn to pay for the oil. The amount is a staggering ₩189,000 [$189]!

Last night I told [Mrs Kim’s son] I felt insulted about the ₩5,000 per hour I was offered and that I wasn’t cheap labour. He said I shouldn’t be angry with them about the oil, it’s not their fault. I replied – very politely – that I wasn’t angry with him, but he should also not be angry with me if I said at some point that the situation has made it impossible for me to stay in Korea.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been feeling worn out, like I felt last May when I said I was running on empty. My throat tightens when I think about staying here for another more than four months. The economic crisis has caused my salary to lose 60% of its dollar value … the hot water crisis … the impersonal [long-drop outside, next to the gate] … the knowledge that I’m still a cheap bargain for […] Foreign Language Institute.

* * *

Yesterday afternoon, Monday, 23 February, on my way to my afternoon shift, I reckoned I had had enough. I’m going to stay until the end of March, I thought, but I won’t go back to South Africa … I’m going to Europe.

The idea blows like a whirlwind through the next few days. I wondered again if making it until the end of June wasn’t possible after all.

I realise, though, that my plan is about more than just that. It’s starting to make more and more sense. Maybe I can “make” it until June, but the idea is increasingly taking shape as more than just an emotional response. It is increasingly becoming the best plan considering all the relevant factors, regardless of whether I can make it until the end of June, and regardless of whether I hate Korea or if I’m just tired of her.

It goes back further than the hot water system, my leaky taps, the shitter at the front gate, the spit-dripping men, the ugly buildings, children pointing at you in public, and the breathtakingly beautiful women.

It goes back to a warm summer evening in December 1995 – alone in Stellenbosch, in an unfurnished apartment of which the rent was in arrears, and me standing on the balcony listening to Gary Moore on my Walkman singing “One day the sun will shine on you”.

Sunday, 8 March 1998

Okay, back to the plan, but everything is already in operation. I resigned on Tuesday, March 3rd at ten to eleven in the evening.

Why? I quote from notes written on 27 February: “It’s about Korea, but it’s more about the place where I work than about the country. It’s also more about Europe than it is about Korea and the place where I work. More than that, it’s about an opportunity – available to me right now. I’m afraid if I do survive here until the end of June against all expectations, I’ll find myself back in South Africa within a week or two with no definite plans or prospects.”

In the meantime, I was informed that I couldn’t fly to Europe directly,* but I went ahead with my resignation anyway. I will stay until the end of April; my relationship with Mrs Kim stays intact, with full salary and ₩200,000 bonus. Then I’ll fly back to South Africa; which gives me another two months to sort out my plans and prospects.

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* I had a return ticket to Johannesburg from the previous year. Singapore Airlines had initially said it was possible to change the final destination, but a problem with the issuing of the ticket the previous year resulted in them not being able to change it after all.

Tuesday, 10 March 1998

If I wait until I’ve argued and contemplated a plan flawlessly, I’ll wait a long time. The best advice I can give myself is to make a decision, to execute the decision to the best of my ability, and to accept the consequences whatever they may be.

This is where the greatest risk, and the greatest adventure lie – in the execution of a decision once you’re willing to bear the consequences. I am ready.

* * *

Never underestimate the magnificence of the first step of a thousand mile journey.

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Sunday, 8 March 1998

You usually get your first idea of what life is supposed to look like when you are a fully grown and mature adult from your parents. Eventually you reach a point in your pre-adult youth where you ask yourself: Is this life good? Is this the life I would want to live as an adult?

Perhaps you answer in the positive. Fine. But if your answer is “no”, then this dissatisfaction will set you off on an adventure you might only realise you are on years later.

The ideal situation is where you give a definite positive response when you look at your own adult life and ask the same question that you had asked about your parents’ lives. A positive answer will mean you are in a privileged position.

If you look at your own adult life and your answer to the question is negative, it is up to you to decide how long you will continue to struggle for a better life, and at what point you are going to give up, to simply be content with what you have.

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Sunday, 8 March 1998

I cannot bear the idea of losing – not when I expected to win. I get obsessed about winning, about reaching my expected point of success. If I fail to realise this expectation, nothing makes sense to me and my world starts crumbling: “How is it possible that I didn’t win?!”

I must learn to be satisfied with less, and to set lower expectations for myself.

In Ten Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead the main character talks about compiling a list of ten things you’d like to do. According to him, you’d never be so lucky as to do all ten, but if you do five or six, you’d have done well for yourself.

That’s crap. If I have to compile such a list, I would expect to do all ten. Nine out of ten would mean that I failed.

How do I go about changing this destructive attitude?

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