A very Long story

Man, a blink of the eye and 2 years pass me by.

2016 was without doubt the worst year of my life. So it doesn’t really come as a surprise that 2017 was better, to say the least. But still, if you had asked me whether it was a good year, I’d still be hard-pressed to say that it was.

I encountered so many people and I tried my best to branch out, investing considerable time, effort and money to do so. But the return? It feels almost negligible. I feel like I’ve taken more harm than good. If you want me to talk about the postive highlights of my year, they’re pretty much all when friend from the UK came to visit me. That’s crazy.

I joined a church for a bit. A friend invited me along thinking that when I did this back in my second year of university, after the first year which, at that time, had been my worst year, it did wonders for me, so that this should be like that too, right? Man, I felt like I was connecting for a while. Then the differences in culture began to diverge. Or maybe it was just their church way. In any cases, it became extremely suppressing instead and I left, though not without upsetting my group leader, to whom I bore an almost malicious disrespect. Though I think I still spend time with some of the church members from time to time, I doubt I’ll return to that church again.

Church should really be a place where you can culture and mature yourself. Put too many rules and strictures in place and you’ll soon find yourself constricted - unable or unwilling to do certain things for fear of dying by condemnation and judgement of your peers. I felt like a number and not an individual and, truth be told quite frankly, language barrier simply proved too much. On my way out, I fear I may have damaged relationships that I would have found valuable along my life, with very little short of returning to that church able to repair such damage. So therein my first endeavour of the year to network and enrich my life failed.

Trying to find a date is a goddamn disaster. If you’re not white or handsome or rich or have some other outstanding feature, you’re practically invisible. Then, there’s the whole culture of women not starting dating until they’ve established a career at the age of ~30. And by God, do I know how to choose them. Those very few that I might by chance happen to meet and take an interest in, either they’re not interested in dating (for aforementioned reason) or they already have a SO. It takes so much out of me to ask someone on a date, take the time to build the relationship up, find out about them. Then, if ever I do pop the question, they never talk to me again. Like, I don’t mind staying friends, ladies. I just move on to someone else and try my luck elsewhere. This just kills me every time. Just for once, I’d really like it if someone I liked took the effort to ask me out. I’m all suckered out for this; I feel lilke I lose a bit of my soul each time I try. The universe just does not give me a goddamn break on this one.

Comfort. Oh boy. Been thinking about this one for some time. Korea just does not do physical contact, which includes the most simple and soothing mental health aid - hugging. I can’t hug ANYONE. Foreigner friends aside (who I see few and far between anyway), Koreans just don’t do skinship. They’re like bloody children, thinking you’ll get lurgies or something if you make physical contact with someone of the opposite sex. When people say goodbye, it’s not with hugs and fist bumps, but a bow or nod of the head, formal goodbyes and a-dropping my heart on the goddamn floor because it feels like no-one gives a crap. I’m not sure I feel close to anyone in particular. Guys are nice enough and all bro-like, but it’s definitely not the same as getting a hug from a female friend from time to time and knowing AND feeling like someone gives a damn about you. As it is, everyone often feels like an acquaintance and not actually a friend. Which transitions into my next problem.

Managing emotional stress. I’m all cried out. Pretty much. Today I cried whilst in the shower for once. Can you guess why? I cried because I have been unable to cry ever since before I came to Korea. And it upsets me. I couldn’t cry because it felt futile. Like crying would do no good. I didn’t even cry when my girlfriend broke up with me in 2016. Because a part of me already felt like some crap was about due in my life and I had already grieved its coming and going. I cried because I thought seriously about when I had last properly cried (I’m not counting superficial instances with dramas/movies/etc) and I remembered. Summer 2015. I had just moved to Macau. I screwed up bad then. I was with a friend and due to bring them to a dinner date with my parents who had taken the effort to reserve an extremely well-known bistro on the other side of the island. Due to a misunderstanding of the meeting time, as well running into traffic, I ended up never being able to make it there with my friend and I returned home with her to wait. My dad was furious to say the least and didn’t talk to me when he got home. Mum told me just to take my friend to a good restaurant nearby to have dinner, since we hadn’t eaten yet. Before leaving, I told my friend to wait by the elevator while I apologised to dad. He kind of acknowledged I said something, but otherwise we didn’t talk until the end of the night before we went to sleep where we had our reconcilatory talk. As I walked to the elevator and got in, my friend saw my expression and knew that I was the furthest thing from alright. I felt like I had failed everyone that night and someone I cared intensely for saw witness to it and the absolute wrath my father could bring to display. My soul was laid bare and I had no choice but to cry.

I thought about how that was how long it had been since I properly cried LIKE THAT and lamented my own soul. The thought of becoming devoid of my soul, my emotions, my ability to CARE, this terrified me. I want to care. I want someone to care. I was so upset as I came to the realisation that I was becoming sick and tired of becoming sick and tired of being upset and being able to express it to no avail, with no one to comfort me except my comfort toys. Inanimate soft toys that aren’t even big enough to cuddle properly.

I have been jumping so much between “God helps those who help themselves, so get my ass in gear and take control!” and “Well, I am a piece of crap anyway and nothing I do is going to change that...”. I just don’t know what to do any more. I don’t have the answers, I’m not even sure I have the questions. I’m not even sure I have the words to say anything any more. Well, I guess that’s ironic given how much I’ve written to this point.

It’s not all been bad. Though the bad does seem to outweigh what little good I seem to have in this year. I have been blessed with at least some consistent friends. Some who do take time out of their lives to spend their time with me weekly, studying. I owe a great thanks to the 2-3 that did this for any period of time. It did, in part, stop me from simply stagnating at home.

And school. Oh boy. What a fantastic place. I’m very lucky to have had this school. It gives me a lot of freedom, but grounds me enough to keep me consistent and, somewhat, professional. It gives me things to do. And I see wondrous things from the children, week in and week out. I reckon if I didn’t have my job this whole time, I’d probably have given it all up by now, hope and all. But work gave me some consistent purpose; grounding and no time to dwell too much on bad things. The children are bright young sparks to whom I share their emotions vicariously.

But children are just children and not a suitable replacement for someone who can actually understand the depth of your emotions and accept them. They are brilliant, fantastical and nothing short of amazing. I am not as they are.