One Night in Korea

I spent two years of my life in Korea, not moving forward, not moving backward, only living in a kind of dream-like limbo in my early 20’s.  During the day I was with American soldiers who I had little to nothing in common with and at night and on the weekends I was with Koreans who I felt more connected to but still felt the weight of a language and cultural gap.  I did not want to return to the States after my one year tour and so I volunteered to extend my time there for my full two year commitment to the Army.  

I don’t know what I hoped to accomplish, only I did not know what the next step was to be in my life.  In this regard, I hid from my stateside-self and his future by staying overseas in a magical land of strange and exotic experiences.  Every time I went out with my Korean friends and their friends I felt special and was treated as such by virtue of my non-Korean-ness.  The experience was at once exhilarating and terribly melancholy, trapped as I was in a cage of my own making.

I tried to make the best of the Army part without fully buying into what it meant to be a soldier.  I was the best runner in my brigade and maybe even the division, a good marksman, and great at land navigation to the extent I was the only private in my unit to achieve the coveted Expert Infantryman’s Badge.  But I had no intentions to serve past my two year commitment and the NCO’s could sense this in me and it generated friction between me and those above me in the chain of command.  I had a reputation for disappearing at the earliest possible moment of being off duty (although you were never really “off duty” in Korea).  One of my fellow platoon members described me as a “shadow” who could slip off without anyone noticing.

Part of this shadow-like behavior had to do with an ongoing attempt to immerse myself as much as possible in the Korean culture, language, and geography.  I built up a whole network of Korean friends throughout Dongducheon, down through Uejongbu, and stretching all the way to Seoul utilizing bus, train, and subway.  It was like a series of safe houses that I could crash at on the weekends.  The other soldiers in my unit were self-confined to the base itself and a small part of Dongducheon just outside the main gate that catered to the “needs” and wants of Americans.  They suspected that I wandered far afield, but I never talked of it with them in order to protect my hard won freedom that could easily be taken away if proof surfaced of what I was doing.

So, this poem “One Night in Korea” is just a glimpse of one particular night that looked like so many other nights while I was living there except for the peculiar incident of sneaking into the base pool after midnight and drowning myself in its glowing waters.  Which, in retrospect, was breathtakingly foolish but not out of character for me at that time.

I was young and free

to roam and do

what I pleased

though hopelessly lost

in a foreign land,

a soldier of fortune

looking to connect despite

incompatible voltages.

Chin-gu’s who thought

in a different language,

peering through narrowed 

eyes while chain smoking,

nighttime neon glow

with no lack of laughter,

coffee, tea, maek-ju, so-ju,

and the smell of kim-chee.

Until I found myself alone,

separated from so much 

and from so many,

wide-eyed and weary,

the long walk back 

to the barracks still ahead.

I was drawn to the glow of 

the base swimming pool.

It called to my spirit,

a beatific blue-green light,

just past the witching hour.

I scaled the high fence,

squatting Korean-style

at the water’s edge

peeled down to my boxers

and my burdens.

Time took a time out

as I balanced between

life and death,

strife and breath,

teetering

:

tottering

:

tumbling

:

all things diverging 

all things converging

my body floating

betwixt and between.

***