"I don't know," said my friends in the writing group, all older than me. "Once I wanted to live abroad, but now I'm comfortable here and I'm in a relationship and I don't feel the same urge anymore."
Reaction: panic. What if I wake up in five years and I've never made use of all those craigslist searches for apartments in Paris, or learned another language, or made myself at home in a new country?
This trip has been a long time coming.
But I'm not exactly excited.
Apprehensive, mostly. Nervous about being in school again and learning a new language (which I'm terrible at), the unfamiliar food, being in a city even larger than the one I live in now, trying to make my own place in my aunt's apartment, being away from my family and friends and S, nervous about trying to teach fully online, about figuring out the subway. I'm nervous that I won't have anyone to talk to, and that the pillow will be too hard, and that I won't be able to make the baked potatoes that I like.
But this is also the first time that I'll be in Korea on my own, discovering the city and finding favorite places. I'll also be able to say more than just 'I'm hungry!' or 'I'm full'. Apprehension is good, because I think once I move through it, the city will bloom.
I am bringing my own pillow, though. And a tiny bottle of rosemary.
