Verkhovensky’s Internals

I spent a pleasant weekend at the beach, somewhere on the West coast of Korea.

I’m getting excited. I love this time of the year! The fruit sellers are beginning to set up shop on the side of the road, the girls are shortening their skirts and, more importantly, the days are getting longer.

I think that people are generally affected by the amount of natural light they are exposed to over a period of time, and winter for me has always had its moments of groundless despair. But as Spring begins to reveal her ripening face I feel possessed with happiness and resolution.

And I have been watching closely this time around. My classroom, which I only recently moved into (my last class was around back of the building) gives me a view of the setting sun that sweetens the final hour of my work day greatly.

I’m really quite grateful…

Many of these buildings weathered the the Korean war, and I therefore give to them my respect. There is a certain culture to all of this…

The symbolic associations and impact of any cultural symbol are of course relative to the cultural background of she who beholds it, and it would be a lie if I were to claim that Namdaemun Gate played an identical role in my perception of Korea as it did for a native Korean, particularly a Korean of the older generation who has lived through the remorseless modernization of the country and perhaps even remembers the Korean war. And though I certainly won’t make such a claim, the prominence of that now injured monument made it difficult for anyone with a stake in the country to ignore.

There are many aspects of Korea which remain a mystery to me. This is in part due to my poor grasp of the language, to be sure, but it is equally due to my inescapable status as an outsider. After living in the country for the past year and a half, the majority of the time I feel completely at home here, and I longed for many of the confections and conveniences of Korea during my visit to Canada this past summer. But to make the point as clearly as possible: Korea is filled with Koreans, and multiculturalism is virtually unknown if not looked down upon. The country has its share of Eleusinian Mysteries that one does not speak of to outsiders.

Namdaemun Gate was to me an explicit if illusive intimation of such mysteries, a symbol of the hidden and authentic core of the country which I have come to think of as my second home - despite my aforementioned status as an outsider. The severity of its juxtaposition to the surrounding array of ultramodern skyscrapers, it’s absurd presence amid an unending smear of neon advertisements, and it’s ad hoc position as a stranded island in a stream of high-speed traffic, made the ancient monument more than just a tourist attraction. It was a strong reminder to all of what Korea once was. But to me it was a symbol of what Korea still is - underneath the hard steel and glass of its modern affectations.

In times past the gate protected Seoul from it enemies, but a new historical force has emerged and is proving itself too powerful and ruthless for such quaint measures. And not without irony this force was born of that which the gate once stood to protect - it is the pathos of modern Seoul.

Below are some images that I found by a Google image search for Namdaemun fire. I haven’t given credit to the original photographers, but if you want to see who took the picture, click the above link and the information will not be difficult to find.

To the Korean people: ??!

This cold, cold peninsula…

I’ve just finished Huxley’s Brave New World and I’ve had disturbing dreams for the past two nights… Twins!

Upon arriving in Bangkok three or so nights ago I was encountered with a most unfortunate situation - the national elections were being held, and no alcohol was being served whatsoever… I was, in truth, still inflicted by a not-so-chance physiological layover from Seoul that would have barred me from the instinctive immersion into those welcoming springs of the netherworld anyhow. Those waters now open to me like the pale petals of a tropical flower.

I haven’t decided decisively but I feel that I may be finished with all this travelling, all this blind exploration and unchecked groping of the unknown. It may be fashionable - I don’t really care about that. I am confronting an eclipse of terrestrial boredom - the single most threatening state of mind for depressives, I believe. Sightseeing! Ahh, how I used to love thee… Only with disinterest does my camera capture the elements within these foreign terrains.

Perhaps it is a kind of India syndrome. The subcontinent is a terrible thing, but since being there I’m virtually fearless against the world. What can this circus offer someone like me? Where shall I find meaning? I don’t know. Where are my gods?

Ahh - Slunky… A little Clapton will help the cultural digestive tract…

It is warm here. I love the temperature. I can’t see myself ever feeling uncomfortable in such extreme heat. So why Canada of all places! Snowy frontier, I long for you… The thought of that great unindividuated blanket of white brings a sense of comfort to me. A burning Christmas tree amid the aging psyche of revelation.

The sun is setting again. What consistency!

Thailand, oh, Thailand…