I’m not quite there yet, but with the arrival of a check on Monday, I should have a $0.00 balance on a credit card I’ve been holding for five years. The conclusion to my entry on travel and debt.

Transportation

I don’t own a car, nor do I have any desire to buy one in this city (much to my Texas relatives’ disbelief). One of the reasons I chose SF was its public transportation system: Muni, BART, Caltrain. I can pretty much go anywhere in the Bay Area without having to worry about gas costs, insurance, parking, and inspections for under $100/month.

Learning to live with less

Don’t get me wrong, I do have some indulgences – my iPhone, meals at Whole Foods – but for the most part I’ve saved money by not going crazy on expensive dinners and nights drinking. It helps that I don’t have a strong affinity for cigarettes or alcohol. Although this has led to some less-than-social nights, there are always fun free events in San Francisco.

Employment

Here’s where my approach probably differs from many financial planners. You see, I haven’t worked a steady, full-time job since I arrived in October 2011. Yet I am making money. How?

I’m not opposed to full-time employment at all, but there’s very little incentive for me to take a job paying under $15/hr just to pay bills. For one, that’s ridiculously low. Two, it would lock me into a schedule and prevent me from exploring one-time higher paying opportunities.

How have I been spending my time?

- Corporate Spokesman

There are a lot of companies who present themselves at trade shows in SF. The problem is, they’re usually understaffed or unprepared to deal with so many potential clients. That’s where I come in: I learn the talking points, present myself professionally, and take home a hefty paycheck.

- Tutoring

Kids and adults. Math, English, science, Latin, Japanese, study skills. Simple as that.

- Executive Assistant

During one of these trade shows, I happened to meet a small business owner impressed by my education, maturity, and background. He asks for my help with random tasks from time to time.

- Usability Testing

I hadn’t even heard of this until November of last year. There are so many software and app developers out here they occasionally want feedback from iPhone users to their product. Easy way to get $50 on your lunch break. It all adds up.

- Ultrasound Modeling

I don’t really like to do this, as it’s invasive and requires little-to-no activity. Companies like GE which manufacture ultrasound equipment often ask for men in various states of healthy to demo their products at trade shows and medical seminars. Very decent pay, but I don’t really enjoy doctors joking about my insides.

Accommodation

San Francisco – I believe – boasts some of the highest rent and property values in the country. Even working professionals are forced into housing with roommates at times. How did I get around this? I didn’t. I live with four roommates (two of whom are respectful and clean) in a less-than-reputable area of town: Bayview. I have no complaints for $480/month ABP.

Ignoring other people

This task has been the most difficult of all. In a city with such a sharp class divide, I toe the line: looking like one of the middle class, but being as poor as the guys at BART stations asking for change. It’s frustrating to hear from even those I consider friends about dining at a great sushi place, upcoming travel plans to Thailand, even looking at something as simple as a nice pair of shoes I can’t afford. It’s easy to save money; it’s difficult to save when advertisements tell you you must buy something to be considered successful and everyone around you presents that image of success: a nice car, bigger apartment, Italian suit. I still struggle, but I have to remember few of these people have had the kind of life I’ve had, a life of living abroad, nor are they likely to experience it if they stay fixed in their routine of working their long hours, paying their bills, and seeing travel as a luxury that’s meant to be enjoying on special occasions. That’s not the life I want for myself or my partner, wherever she may be.

As of June 2012, I will be debt free.

I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve been thinking about returning to Japan as an English teacher. And while I consider a pros and cons list the sign of a mind too confused and weak to truly appreciate his situation (should be able to work it out in his head), I couldn’t help but turn my mental ramblings into a blog for any repatriated expats out there who might be considering going back to Japan.

Why would I consider going back? Teaching is a profession that allows one to see the results of his labors. And despite all the flaws of English education in Japan, it still comes down to the fact that I have information I can pass on to students. Not only that, but living abroad usually allows me the time to explore my other passions with greater fervor (running, writing, traveling) and discover new ones.

Pros

A Job
That’s right. Something as simple as a full-time job with benefits, which is not the easiest thing to find in the US these days. Ideally, I believe I’d want to be based in the US working as a consultant for a company involved in cultural exchange or travel to Asia. I have found a few of these positions, but in many cases, my fading Japanese skills have held me back.

Improve Language Skills
I know from personal experience it’s not as simple as landing in Narita and instantly recognizing kanji, but being fully immersed and understanding some of the pitfalls I encountered the first time I tried to learn Japanese will certainly help. Not to mention, should I decide to return to the states or pursue something more involved with Japanese culture, I’ll have a better grasp of the language.

Hosting Couchsurfers
Depending on my living situation, I should be able to host surfers and get more involved. I had only just discovered Couchsurfing when I left Kagoshima in 2008. By then, I had received a few requests, but my foot was already out the door. Hopefully, I’ll be able to form more connections with local groups and surfers.

Back out in the World
I don’t exactly look to Nomadic Matt as a travel or writing inspiration, but he did put into words something I’ve been feeling since my return.

I feel less connected to the rest of the world. I feel like I’m living in a bubble. That all the events happening outside of America aren’t even registering here. It’s like I can’t get anywhere whenever I want. It’s like I am cut off from the world.

I spent the last few months of my trip in Cambodia while I wrote my book. But even there, in one place, I felt like the world was connected to me. That at any given time, I could go anywhere. I don’t feel that here. I feel like the outside world is more than just a flight or bus ride away. That to get out I have to break free of this invisible barrier that doesn’t exist overseas.

I don’t know exactly what it is about returning to the US that has me feeling so disconnected, but when I’m situated abroad, I feel more inspired to check the news, get outside, and generally just learn more.

Feeling Special… Again
This one comes down to pure ego. In San Francisco, I’m just another 29-year-old white guy. In Japan, I’m that unique foreigner; there aren’t too many of us.

All the Weirdness of Japan
Manga, pachinko (similar to slot machines), horseback archery, Engrish, capsule hotels, etc. There’s always something to surprise me in the land of the rising sun.

Cons

The job
Teaching English isn’t challenging… to me, anyway. Teaching in Asia will not lead one anywhere except towards other teaching jobs in Asia. I thought careers were as cut and dry as “I don’t want to be doing THAT in (ten) years”… now I’m not so sure.

Delaying Life
I’m still a proponent of the idea that living in Asia is a way for expats to avoid life in their respective countries. Teaching English is usually an escape, not a career. Again, delaying developing a career, building a life, finding a partner.

Being an Outsider
Just as I feel special abroad, so too do I feel like the eternal outsider. I’ve written about how I didn’t want bitterness to rise up inside my chest after so many years abroad, but now I’m thinking this would be a result of my attitude, not my environment.

Lack of Food
I love my pizza, Italian, Mexican, baked, fried, tossed, whipped, covered with sugar, and a cherry on top. America has an infinite number of choices when it comes to deciding what to eat. Japan has a handful.

Same Salary
The exchange rate has decreased by 33% since I left Japan (currently 81-82 Yen/dollar; it was over 120 in 2008). While I can understand why this may have contributed to eikaiwa owners offering less than what was the standard 255,000 Yen/month when I was in Japan, it’s a little disheartening for me to accept the same salary after a few more years’ experience teaching in Asia. I can essentially make the same money working as a freelancer here in California, but I would enjoy a better lifestyle abroad.

What would you do?

My friend Eddie called my all-in with a Queen Five. Hands still shaking with the rush that can only come from gambling, I confidently showed my Ace Seven, giving me two pairs to his queen high. He didn’t even seem to realize he was at a disadvantage. Victory would have been mine… if he hadn’t pulled a flush on the river card.

I was crushed at my loss, but, just as when I lose at the blackjack tables, I think to myself, “I couldn’t have played it any other way”. My life is like that at the moment. I’ve been back in the US for exactly six months, and not much has changed. I’ve gained some experiences, met a pretty girl, and thought about settling down in a city and just seeing what comes of it. But my thoughts are constantly returning to that life of travel, living abroad.

If there were an easier way to get back besides teaching English, I’d probably leave in a heartbeat. As it stands, I honestly just don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I know that’s overused and very cliché, but it’s days like today, when I have too much time to think and slow down, that the same thoughts keep coming back to me. I see my 30th birthday as the benchmark for a stable life as an adult, as unrealistic as that is; how many people could find a good job, get married (or at least engaged), and have a place to hang their hat within a few months? I’ve proven I certainly can’t.

Yet that is what I strive for, at the same time not being very content with the path I’m on. I want the end result without any work or consideration of what I do to get there, and it’s killing me. So I’m left with only one option: being happy doing what I do. Choosing a path I know I can stay on and waiting for the right opportunity to transition to a different kind of life. For me, that means travel and running, above all else. I’m sure I’ll find a passion with regard to a job eventually, but not yet.

I can’t play it any other way.

Five months since my return to the US, and I find myself in somewhat of a holding pattern. It’s not as though I haven’t been up to anything – I recently had the chance to speak of my experiences volunteering in Japan at a Hosteling International event – but, for the most part, I think I’ve been surviving, rather than living. Certainly given me time to think about options.

This all comes back to turning 30 in June. The big 3-0. I’m excited by the prospect of finally reaching one of those benchmarks that accompanies adulthood, but I just can’t shake society’s expectations of where I’m supposed to be by this age… which, according to my parents and the media, should be in a house with a mortgage, married with a kid on the way, and working a stable job with a 401K.

I’m not as ignorant as I come off: I know there are other options to someone like me, who knows how easy and affordable it is to live abroad. And maybe I’ll even meet that special girl on the road. I know that I should work smarter, not harder in my quest for success, whatever that word means to me. And I should listen to my friends who’ve already hit 30 when they say there’s nothing monumental about it. Life goes on as it did before.

As it did before… my life since graduating UT has been nothing but living day by day. No grand plan. No ambition for the future. Just getting what I need to survive to make it out the day: money for food, money for rent, money for frivolous things. Even with yearly contracts in Japan and Korea, I never really thought I’d be going anywhere in my career. Teaching English is many things, but it is not the way to advance yourself personally or financially; you could be working the same job at the same hagwon or eikaiwa for years. I’ve seen it happen to guys in Japan in their 40s.

On the other hand, I’m starting to realize I’m not going to be able to do everything I want to do in this life, as I have only one to live. I still have plenty of time, no doubt, but I don’t see myself becoming everything I’ve ever wanted to be in the next thirty years, when the physical toll may finally catch up. The only way I know to push forward is to know what I want to do, rather than who I want to be, and see if I find a path that suits me along the way.

I want to run marathons.
I want to travel the world.
I want to write.

I’ll still probably be spending the next two months in San Francisco getting rid of the last of my travel debt before celebrating my 30th with friends and going off on another adventure. I don’t plan to teach English in Asia, or to go anywhere I’ve been before. I feel Japan calling me back, but I’ve tried that route, and found it wanting. Maybe Europe…

This is a subject I’ve been shying away from for some time. Frankly, even my immediate family doesn’t know the full extent of my finances. I’ve also been afraid of hearing feedback like, “How could you be so stupid, spending money like that?” True enough, but everything seems simpler in retrospect. Let’s start at the beginning, which as far as any debt is concerned, is university.

I didn’t and don’t have any student loans. My parents covered my university tuition, while I dealt with incidentals like food and gas. Yes, I know I was spoiled. At the time, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I had attended a private high school consisting of 99% affluent children. I was the 1%, whose parents earned a decent living, but it all went into my education. Paying for the University of Texas at Austin was actually cheaper than my kindergarten classes.

Although my parents had warned me of the evils of credit cards and how their greatest wish was that I never know debt, I didn’t really understand what all the fuss was about. I had seen so many credit card companies on campus offering swag in exchange for just filling out an application: “No commitments! No fees!” Looking back on it now, they’re despicable people, preying on a demographic that doesn’t know any better. The world would be better without them, especially in light of the current state of the US economy.

I resisted the swag for most of my higher education years, but when the time came to apply for an apartment off campus, I realized the flaw in our credit system: you have to have a credit rating to do almost everything you need to do in life: get a house, rent an apartment, buy a car, even use a cell phone (in some cases). I couldn’t just apply with no credit history. That was the first time I tasted the power of credit, and I didn’t even realize the hole I had started digging for myself. My VISA cashback rewards card served me well for the next two years; I usually spent $500 for the month, paid it off in full, and thought that would be the end of it. What’s the problem with credit cards anyway?

My first big mistake: I charged my first Macbook Pro before I left for Japan. $2200, all in credit, all money I knew I didn’t have. My reasoning? Well, I did need a new computer, and I just assumed I’d be able to pay off the balance with my AEON teaching salary. Let me stress this point: I could have paid off the balance, but I chose not to. I was having such a grand time in Japan that nearly all my salary went towards travel and food. That’s how it went for two years: my balance didn’t increase by more than the monthly interest rates, nor did I make any significant effort to pay it off. On occasion, I would wire some money to pay the minimum monthly payment. Fortunately, it never occurred to me to use my card in Japan. The whole country is so cash oriented I only made a withdrawal from my American checking account once, and never used my credit card.

I was back in the states in the fall of 2008, and of course, my credit followed me there. I even applied for two more cards, with a total limit of around $14,000. My balance at the time was approximately $4000, and yet I still did nothing. I had a steady job in Austin that paid $2500/month, a cheap room, and I didn’t even try to pay off my card.

Fast forward to New Zealand, where I was living and working on Vimutti Buddhist Monastery in exchanging for room, board, and $400/month. Although New Zealand isn’t as credit friendly as the US, it’s certainly still possible to use foreign credit cards in bigger cities and gas stations. Which is what I did. Every time I visited Auckland, I ended up accruing more debt, from cookies on Queen Street, to booking my stay at the X Base, even indulging in the occasional massage. I even charged my incoming and outgoing flights. Debt was up to $6000, split over two cards. One of which was an Bank of America American Express card with a terrible APR. This was the beginning of the end for my carefree lifestyle, as I realized I had a serious problem.

When I returned to the US for good (seemingly) in January 2010, I knew I had to work in order to get my debt under control. I had to consolidate my debt onto the one card. It would have been a great idea, had my credit not been so lousy that I couldn’t get a limit increase and was unable to combine balances from three cards into one. At its worst, and I stress this, because I know people have had to deal with much more than I have in their struggles with debt, my debt reached $10,500. Ten thousand dollars, for a kid who had no permanent employment and desired nothing more than to travel. I even had to ask my brother for a loan of $600 just to make minimum payments. That’s when I knew I was in serious trouble. So what to do next?

Well, I worked. And I worked some more. I didn’t cut back on my obsession with Whole Foods’ lunches, or my love of the finer things in life, but I was able to at least pay off the balance of one VISA, a paltry $2500. That left me with about $8000 going into South Korea. I’ve blogged about my finances over there, but I never mentioned what it meant to my debt. When I left the country, I had $2000 in debt on one card, and $3000 in cash.

Seems straightforward, doesn’t it? Pay off the credit card right away? Well, not exactly. That certainly was an option, one that gave me no savings, no means to pay for a deposit on an apartment, and I was trying to get a fresh start in San Francisco. So I charged a little more to my credit card, if only to keep that stockpile of cash available for apartments. I’m a little more mature when it comes to debt now; I know how easy it is to just swipe that card, forget about the money. If all goes according to plan, I should be debt free by June. Before my 30th birthday.

So what have I learned from all this? Credit cards are just as addictive as any narcotic, even worse, as you have to deal with their repercussions far into the future. It’s been six years since I made that major purchase of a Macbook Pro, and I haven’t been debt free since then, always dealing with scraping enough to get the minimum monthly balance. Part of the reason I went to Korea was to send money home and pay off that lagging number. If I had to do it over again, I’d still buy the computer, but I’d have made more of an effort saving money in Japan.

I don’t know how my thinking is going to change once I see that balance reduced to zero. Everything will be changed. It’s still weird for me to think that I have less money than that man begging for change on the street. We’re born into different circumstances, and sometimes I think he got the better deal.

I could have saved money while traveling. My expenses were and are significantly less on the road. But it’s also easier to spend when you think you’re an invulnerable tourist.

Why do white people always ask this? They have this obsession with heritage: “I’m part this! I’m part that!” Who gives a shit?

One of the advantages of being back in the US is the ability to blend into the crowd. As a white, brown-haired, green-eyed, 20-something man with no physical abnormalities, I can walk to the corner store, pick up a bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola, ask the clerk in English to open it, and be on my way without making a lasting impression. It sounds simple, but it’s a luxury I lacked 99% of the time I spent in Korea and Japan. There’s no official name for this phenomenon as far as I know, so I’ll call it the Moviestar and Reverse Moviestar Effects: in Asia, you instantly gain celebrity status just by looking different than the masses; when you return home, you have to deal with the fact you’re not as special. Sometimes Japanese people even thought I was a real Hollywood actor… how I ended up at the head of their classroom is a question best left for the ages.

However, there are certain initiated pet peeves I associate with memories of my race and nationality, American white people, whatever that means. We just don’t know when to shut up about heritage.

I was a corporate speaker for an engineering firm in Sacramento last month, and had the fortune of working under a great professional who would later provide me freelance work in San Francisco. He happened to have been born in India, but moved away when he was a baby.

Stop, and ask yourself: what is this man, based solely on what I’ve told you? Is he Indian, American, neither, both, a third culture kid?

The short answer is he’s American. He can’t remember what it was like in India; growing up in this country is all he knows. Obviously, he speaks English fluently and without trace of an accent.

The problem is, some Americans, even those with open minds who are proud of the fact our country is a cultural melting pot, have some pretty stupid ideas about what an American should look like. There is no answer to that question: we’re yellow, brown, black, white, mixed-raced, every combination to every race and nationality you can imagine probably exists somewhere in this country.

So why, why, WHY do some people assume it’s impossible for my brown-skinned friend to be a “true American?” He must have had three people walk up him, complement his English, and ask where he was from. I have to say he took it better than I would have under similar circumstances, probably used to it by now. In Asia, it’s not exactly a ridiculous question to ask a foreigner where he’s from (ethnicity doesn’t usually come up, unless you’re not white), because it’s obvious he hasn’t been born in Korea, Japan, or Thailand based on his lack of understanding of the language and sudden appearance in ethnically homogenous cultures.

I know this happens all the time, and it’s not exactly the best reason to get upset. In my humble opinion, we Americans, even those I wouldn’t consider to be racist, want to compartmentalize other nationalities and races: “You look brown, you must have been born in India”; “You’re not really all that black – do you have a white grandmother?”. Even being white is necessarily a deterrent: I’ve had plenty of strangers ask about my heritage. The question is just as ludicrous for me as it would have been to my friend. And when the question of race is resolved, state heritage becomes an issue.

Who gives a shit? I’m American.

Ah yes, running. I have a stress fracture in my left foot, probably the result of getting back into the Vibrams too soon after the Christmas holidays, when I trained for three weeks in Newtons only. That’s just a guess; maybe all my mileage has been leading to this injury. The point is, I’m out of commission for a while, and it feels really unnatural.

A runner who could not run was out of his element. He would not even think of himself as an athlete; ridiculously there would be a kind of guilt about it; that was the worst part. He would begin to feel uncomfortable around his training comrades and the feeling would be mutual, like a newly wounded soldier among the embarrassed whole ones, who would not wish to be reminded of certain crap game aspects of life.
- Once A Runner, John L. Parker, Jr.

On the one hand, I fully appreciate how much more time I have to just do nothing. On the other hand, with no employment, writer’s block, and no travel on the horizon, it feels like the last of my passions is slipping away. I won’t deny I’m in a bit of a funk over it, but I’m far from beaten down or at the verge of giving up. This isn’t some Disney movie pep talk about looking for the silver lining. This is me accepting responsibility for my own life and not letting challenges get in the way of what I want out of it.

If I can’t work full time? I’ll find an alternative and learn to live with less.

If I can’t travel around the world? I’ll learn to see local things as a traveler would, to keep my mind fresh and my eyes wide open.

If I can’t run? I think this may be the deal breaker. We’ll see how my recovery proceeds.

My guilty pleasure? Browsing jobs in Seoul and imaging what it’d be like if I abandoned everything and returned to Korea as a fresh, not-so-wide-eyed teacher. Even though I can still recall everything I decided in my last days over there – not wanting to be the outsider; tired of instability; wanting a “career” of sorts – the fact remains it’s easy to think those thoughts when you’re sitting in your own apartment and a paycheck is scheduled to be deposited. My work, while enough to sustain me in the Bay Area, hasn’t lead to anything approaching permanency, and I still think like a traveler… even if I do get something, it’s not a life sentence.

I buy lottery tickets, put all my hopes in cover letters, and go about my business. I guess that’s just what I’ve come to realize about work and life: there are no shortcuts, no easy roads to success. True, some are luckier than others, but their luck comes from working with good people and being passionate about what they do. I want that. I was able to work as a successful freelancer in Austin because I spend my university years building connections that weren’t essential to my survival when I was studying, but once I was out in the workforce, they allowed me to thrive. I just need time to do the same over here.

I’m still planning that next big adventure, counting down the weeks until I turn 30, and waiting to hear from a prospective employer in San Mateo. But I’m content. Sempre tem jeito. “…there’s always a way. Don’t drive yourself crazy over stuff now, there’s always a way to work it out in the end.”

It’s only been six weeks since I took that flight from Incheon, and already my world is established. I have a job (well, series of jobs, anyway), a girlfriend, a place to stay, food in the fridge, money in the bank. I’d be lying if I said things are exactly the way I wanted them to be, but things aren’t that bad. Not that they started out that way…

Let’s go back to the beginning. A ten-hour flight between Korea and San Francisco. With the inflight entertainment system broken. I’ve said it before, but travel just seems impossibly easy at times; it’s still so inconceivable to me that I could leave what had become my home for fourteen months and fly across the world in less than a day, to a place where residents know nothing about that world or the people in it. Americans just see strange writing where I see hangul. I hear Japanese, Chinese, and Korean where some just hear gibberish. My world and my experience have grown. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but, in a way, it makes me feel as though I stand out (figuratively, not literally) more in the US than I ever did in Korea (literally, not figuratively); I’ve been to Asia. I’ve seen life on a Buddhist monastery. I’ve traveled places friends couldn’t find even if they Googled their eyes out.

Stateside, people just been getting on with their lives: making money, building bonds, getting distracted by media and consumerism. It’s pretty much as I imagined it to be during my idle time in Uljin, but it’s quite another thing to experience it firsthand. Stores are so massive over here, even compared to the largest E-Mart or Lotte Department Store. The selection is incredible, almost wasteful. I remember seeing a few bags of Pepperidge Farm cookies in my local Family Mart and feeling lucky they had been stocked that day. Now, I can just walk into any Walgreens and find twenty different kinds, spanning half an aisle.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I was pretty much connected to this consumerism even in Korea. The Internet provided access to everything I ever wanted or could conceivably want at the touch of a button. But there’s no substitute for seeing product in person: touching it, smelling it, being reminded of something by it, and finding out it’s on sale. “I didn’t know I wanted these two minutes ago, but now I desperately do!”

Trade-offs. That’s what it all comes down to. In Korea, I have financial security, healthcare, regular hours… but I also will eternally be the outsider, cut off from my American identity, removed from family. On the other hand, I have time to explore my passions. I can honestly say I felt more whole in Korea, as I had time to run, go to the gym, write (case in point; how long has it been since I updated this blog?), read, and keep up to date on the news. For some reason, those things just seem diluted over here, as if I left my interest in the land of the morning calm and the only way to regain it is to go back.

In the US, I have flexible hours, easy access to social circles, more delicious food than I care to eat, and even (recently) a companion. But it seems like everything over here is just at a faster pace than that I want to move. I’m constantly scouring the Internet looking for better opportunities. Every time I see an ad it’s like it takes up a significant amount of memory to compartmentalize and store for later; it’s possible the same thing would have happened if I had understood the subtleties of Korean advertising, but I doubt it. I just seem to constantly be moving and searching while standing still. Ironic, as I left a life of traveling around the world to feel frantic in one place.

I don’t know how things will work out. Right now, I’m living in a safe and clean but ultimately temporary place south of the city. I’m dating someone in Noe Valley. I’m working promotions with Nintendo. I’m still running like crazy. But I feel incomplete.

Anyone else returned to find themselves in the same bind?

Lately, I’m sorry to say I’ve been feeling the former, even towards situations and people completely undeserving of my wrath:

- I discovered a sign that stated the NH Mart would be closed until 2:00 and a man felt the need to go out of his way and explain this in broken English. Instead of being grateful at his desire to help convey useful information, I couldn’t control this feeling of being patronized: “You don’t think I can read??”

- When strangers walk up to me shouting “Hello!”, I don’t even bother to distinguish the ones genuinely interested in talking and those just showing off. I just ignore them. With my clock ticking down, I can only see the latter.

- It’s affected me in the classroom as well. I don’t know exactly when Koreans get the idea that the best response to foreigners writing or speaking the smallest, simplest amount of their language is to open their eyes as wide as they can and clap, but one of my seven-year-old students did it this week when I wrote the name of the new teacher. Usually, I just write off their behavior to childhood, but the fact that it was a mirror image of the response I had witnessed from adults set me off. I was beyond peeved. Like I said, learn to deal with it; things will never change when it comes to Asia and foreign residents.

Looking to the future, I just don’t know. I keep reading news stories about the horrid unemployment rate and it occurs to me I’d be living with my parents if I hadn’t taken the leap and worked abroad. The only thing I can say for certain is that if I find myself in that situation, I’d be more comfortable returning to Korea; I may forever be an outsider here, but at least I’d be independent and answerable to no one.

I’m just uncertain and conveying that uncertainty in my writing, of course. I’m resourceful and smart, so it’s unlikely I’ll find myself homeless or unemployed for too long… I hope. I do look forward to seeing the new Couchsurfing headquarters, meeting new people, and exploring the Bay Area. Every time I see an ad for a travel job, I’m tempted to send it my resume and try another country for a year. But in my heart, I know that time has passed. I want a refrigerator stocked with food I may never eat. I want a place to hang my hat. I thought I wanted the stereotypical American Dream. And as much as I’d like to believe I’ve convinced myself it’s better to be living the life of a vagabond, day-by-day, out of a backpack, I’ve discovered a good balance of each is called for. I want a place to call home and a house to return to after my travels, but I also don’t want to be suffocating in a 9-5 job without the flexibility to take a week off if I feel like driving to Yellowstone or spending time with a friend. So I guess I do strive for the impossible, but isn’t that part of being human?