The Beat November 2002

I'm a stranger in a strange land, and sometimes I like it that way. Sometimes I like a little solitude. Sometimes I just want to be left alone, anonymous and unnoticed. So please don‘t think I‘m rude. I fended off 3 ajummas for this subway seat for two solid reasons. I‘ve got places to go, and this is the only time I‘ve got to finish this darned book I‘ve been toting around for the last month. Maybe all you want to know is where I‘m from. And your enthusiasm I do appreciate, after 8 hours of cramming “It is a dog” down the throats of overeducated 6 year olds with no interest in what I‘m yelling over the tumult of Hagwon Hell.

Please don‘t think I‘m selfish. All I want to do is just clock in some time with this book alone at my table. I want to read something of substance, something beyond the logistics of why Mr. Kim is a person, Kimhae is a place and kimchi is a thing. All I‘m looking for is a little me time with my language. And darn it, I just don‘t feel like sharing right now.

Please don‘t think I‘m antisocial. I‘m happy to have found a nice secret little coffee shop where I can sit down and write. This is my special little time where I break away from my life to write about just that. I didn‘t invite you to sit down in my booth, please go sit in one of the other five that are still open. I know coffee shops are for socializing, but why do you think I didn‘t bring my friends?

Please don‘t think I‘m inhospitable. I‘ve come home from another brutal day at the office. I just wanna have a hot shower, read the news, check out some websites, and listen to obscure music known only to the criminally insane. I really don‘t want your 4 year-old kid knocking at my door every 5 minutes just to say, “What‘s your name?” and run to his own door before I can create something with panache, like Charles Manson or something.

Please don‘t think I‘m ungrateful. Kind taxi man, you picked me up in the pouring rain when I had no umbrella. I told you I want to go to "Gwanganli haesuyokjang" in a respectful manner and respectable pronunciation. I‘m busy with my text messaging, and my day planner. No, I do not speak Korean, and yet I seem to only make it worse when I actually say “Hangukeoreul mot hamnida” ("I can't speak Korean"). Instead of engaging me in this fruitless conversation, I would prefer that you kept your eyes on the asphalt instead of asking me what ever it is you are asking me by way of the rear view. Thank goodness, your cell phone just rang…

Please don‘t think I‘m dirty. I‘ve gotta swelter on this bus for at least another hour just to get into Haeundae. I don‘t feel like telling you why I don‘t think it‘s rude to sit down on the back steps of the bus, when I‘ve been standing for 10 hours today already. You laugh and the others point, but I don‘t think I owe an explanation for the obvious. I‘m too tired to talk, so please leave me be.

Please don‘t think I‘m ungracious. So we‘re from the same continent, it doesn‘t mean I feel like talking about my life story with you. Just because I‘m Canadian does not mean that I know Pete in Halifax, or Joe in Burnaby. I don‘t care what football team you armchair quarterback for. I don‘t care what beer you drink. I came to this beach to bask with my book and my beer.

Sometimes I long for invisibility, but how can that happen without some kind of Romulan Cloaking device? I would love to walk down the street just once and not have some kid pointing, ajumma gawking, old guys staring, or being rushed by the clan of middle schoolers asking me the standard questions. Imagine the results rushing some person of Asian decent back home and asking them if they are from Canada. They‘d likely think you were on something, just plain goofy, or both. Then they would scream, “Toronto, you freak!” as they call the fuzz or sic a big dog on you.

But we‘re not stewing in the melting pot anymore, so we must all learn to deal with homogeneity on our own levels. For me, being a visible minority has been an exhausting experience, and I haven‘t even gotten political yet.