Running

So, I started running again.. I'm running. I remember the first I touched Korean land. I looked at the sky, the trees, the ...buses. The people were the last thing I considered. Perhaps I knew I'd have a lonely trip.
The route I run is really lovely actually. It's half my walk to work and then I come to a quiet intersection by the elementary school. I make a right and dip into a patch of cool streets, fresh air and beautiful houses. I get to this pocket of gorgeous apartments. The complex is greco-roman inspired with white columns, shallow pools, craned at half-repose, and perfectly pruned miniature pines.

So here I am - mouth agape, missing Italy, not missing Italy, missing home, not missing home, standing awkwardly beside a perfect patch of grass. Sweating, breathing loudly....wondering where the hell I am.
Wondering who the hell I am.
I give myself 10 minutes to process. I process. I start running down the street again where I pass a bridge overlooking a jogging/biking trail that can be accessed by climbing down some steep, impossible, horribly-lit stairs.

Naturally, I descend. I'm curious and excited. The air is fresh and crisp and has the pangs of rain on its windy invitation. I lick my lips. I lick my lips. I lick them until they hurt. The wind hurts.

I run a loop around this man-made athletic route until I cross another tiny bridge. I keep running. My side hurts so good. I love it.

I'm underneath a big bridge with a small bridge beneath me. A new song comes on my iTouch - Anya Marina's "Not a through Street". It's perfect.

I run harder. I reach a beautiful vista -- quiet bright buildings twinkle with a friendly smirk in the near distance. I smile big. I'm so exhausted. I'm sweating but I stop running so I start to shiver. My body's shivering and I'm shivering inside pretty bad too.

After everything, I stand and smile. And then I disappear. I'm just not there anymore. I forget my name, my memories, my entire history is just erased. It's not a sad feeling at all. It's strange and feels like a furious rain that materializes out of nowhere -- this anonymity I'm feeling.

It isn't the traveling or the exhaustion or the confusion, though I don't suppose they're helping.
But the feeling is addictive. It's the only space in my overtly planed life where I cease to.be.planned.

Every month, I reach a point of exhaustion where I know Korea has given me all ti can. This was the first time such thoughts seemed silly. No place stops giving until you stop taking. I don't miss home anymore. I don't have charged emotions anymore. I don't know who I am anymore but I've never felt more secure in my own skin.

It's all a furious rain -- fog lifting, green clearing and my arms with their fingers stretching infinitely before me. My feet beating the ground. My breath caught in my throat. My heart. Beating loudly all the way into my thoughts. I feel I could pull at ocean waves and uncover buried treasures bare-handed. And I do.
My life in Toronto seems lifetimes ago. I have a million impressions everyday. I'm pretty dreamy and tune into a particular thing and lose focus easily. I guess the only thing I haven't lost focus of is that I'm alive. I'm here. I occupy this space right now. It's so basic but it's the only thing I can think of.

Korea taught me my location. And it's funny but running (in tiny HeungDeok by these cool residential areas) taught me how to stand still again.

stop leaving and you will arrive

stop searching and you will see

stop running away and you will be found

Found this on an artist's blog the other day.

i felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains,
trees, people. i thought, “this is what it is to be happy.
sylvia plath