This weekend I haven't missed home, per se, I have just boycotted everything Asian. This morning I woke up early and really wanted to take a walk past Chedoke Golf Course, along the Rail Trail. I tried to figure out what it was about that place that I missed: there are plenty of trees in Korea, plenty of paths and beautiful scenes from nature to see. But something is missing. Perhaps it is the courtesy smile Canadians give as they walk past a neighbour. Sometimes you even say, "Good morning." Koreans don't do that. They more often than not ignore me, and sometimes cast a disapproving glance my way.
Perhaps it is looking over the city that houses my family, friends, and memories. It's nice to look around and see the hospital where I spent so many hours with sick kids, the east end that leads to my grandparents' house, the water where my mom sails. Perhaps it is the familiarity of it all: everything here is still fairly new to me and so fairly foreign.
But then maybe it is more simple than that: I think I miss the houses. A house, especially the ones in my old neighbourhood, were large vessels that harboured lives. They were brick and mortar reminders that a family existed together right there.
This house is for sale currently on Aberdeen, a street in my old neighbourhood
A house stakes a claim on a street, on a city. It is the grand mansion on Bay Street that gets gussied up for Hallooween, complete with a smoking cauldron and moving front lawn cemetary. It is the driveway on Hess Street South where a ton of children's bikes always seem to gather. It is the front porch on Markland where a lone person always seems to sit and look out into the world. I would walk past, run past, meander past these homes and wonder what was going on inside. Sometimes if my runs would take me into the night, I could see in and view the life of a family: see homework being done at the dining room table, watch supper being prepared, imagine what living there would be like. A house...who knew I could miss a house? Not my house, just houses in general.There really aren't houses in Korea. There are no glorious, tall staircases (or even small ones like my old staircase), no grand foyers, no bright colours in old houses. There aren't places to hide, places to be alone, separate from the space that others inhabit. There aren't cozy kitchens with green countertops and six stools to rest your body, your feet, and your head. There are huge, cramped, Saugeen-esque apartment buildings, but you can't see inside them, can't imagine the smell of a roast chicken dinner there (mainly because they don't cook roast chicken in Korea).
So I didn't go out much this weekend. Didn't wander the city streets, because I missed seeing what I'm used to: houses. Instead, I finished reading a great book, watched some movies, and made a very Canadian autumn chicken stew. It was the best thing I've eaten since coming here. Mainly because I think I needed a bit of home cooking that didn't include tofu ;)
However, to answer Laura's question in a public forum, I AM enjoying myself here. I am opening up to new things, travelling around my city, and enjoying the company of those around me. I love city living, as most of you expected I would, and really look forward to city living in other countries as well (naturally this includes Canada, but may also include somewhere else). Sometimes it's nice to be at home...and I'm starting to realize that my tiny box (ahem! "apartment") has become my home. It's clean, bright, and currently filled with cooking smells from a typical Sunday evening. I'm comfortable and happy. Houseless, but happy :)
No comments:
Post a Comment