Leaf in a Toilet

My favorite tree in Korea is the eunhangnamu. Normally they look like any other tree but around October their leaves explode into a vibrant, almost tacky, color. The leaves' shape is also quite different. Rather than oval they are more triangular, small and somewhat bell-shaped. I am used to the foliage of Athens/Meigs County and these bright, solid yellow leaves overwhelm me.

Today I was stopped in my tracks by one of these leaves. Just as I was settling down to do my business; I saw a leaf in the squatter at my school. After an embarrassingly long stare, analysis began. What was the leaf doing in the toilet? How had it landed in the third stall squatter? Had it blown in through a far away window? Or traveled clinging to a shoe? And why hadn't it been flushed down? It broke away from all the other leaves, wandered a vast distance and ended up in this crap shoot. Could it be that I felt a connection with this leaf in the toilet? That we were living parallel lives?

Please do not misunderstand. I don't think Seoul is a shit hole. BUT it does smell, it's dirty and the weather-at times-can really piss on you. This is my ninth month in Korea. While I have had a wonderful experience I can't help but feel antsy. The stench, staring and foreigner stigma is grating at me. I feel frozen. I am close enough to traveling yet not traveling.

I had the urge to reach down in the toilet water and fish the leaf out. It was just stuck in that hole. Not being flushed but not splashing out. That toilet needed a good plunge and scrub. I didn't do it though. I didn't reach into the toilet. I checked on the leaf later in the day and it had been flushed. I felt the loss of the leaf but accepted that nothing is certain if you leave it to chance.

I am determined not to feel stuck or be flushed. Here or anywhere. I have things to do and life to enjoy. Seoul is a huge city and there are still tasks to be done (see previous blog entry). Besides that, I will be traveling to the Philippines in January. And my contract ends in March.

After that, who knows? Perhaps I will find a new toilet. Or maybe I will just return to my old tree.