Monday, October 19, 2009

Far from Home

I click out of the program. Class is over. It's remarkable how when teaching at home from your lap top computer, the transition from work to home life is as fast as the click of a button. With the buzz of the classroom gone--I'm left alone. The refrigerator dully hums. I've got slippers on--I'm wearing a dress shirt and athletic shorts. I'm like an anchor man in my own home; But really, this isn't my home so it's not exactly like that. More like: I'm an online English teacher living and working in Korea. That is strange enough.

It's 8pm. The apartment is too quiet. I decide to go for a walk--to the beach. It's cold now and I take a sweater out of my suitcase. I've lived out of a suit case for two years. The beach is nice. It is clean and I feel cleaner as the wind blows over me.

I walk miles. Just keep walking into the night. I end up on a pier far from home, staring out to sea. The red light blinks above me in the light house. The world is dimly illuminated in red and the disappears into black then reappears. It's pulsating. The waves come in and out. I'm staring out to sea. When I've seen enough, I walk miles back home, go up the elevator. My reflection in the elevator mirrors looks older than it should. The elevator doors hiss open. I unlock my apartment door--back where I started. The refrigerator is humming.

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