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The rain has been pouring since the predicted typhoon hit a few days ago. It's a bit strange to hear someone say, as if in afterthought, "Oh, and there will be a typhoon later tonight."

As my contract in Incheon draws to a close within 21 days, my place has turned into a chaotic mess of documents, work, clothes, and boxes. It's not so much that I've doubled-up on my belongings since first arriving or that packing has driven me insane, but more that I like to throw everything out into the open. When everything's packed up, I feel satisfied knowing I'm onto the next place and next adventure.


With the humidity and summertime, the air swells with the cry of the cicadae. Though their song is an annoyance to many, I have always loved the sound of the cicadae in the Korean summer.


My ex-boyfriend and I moved to Korea together. As life goes with unexpected turns, we ended our 2 1/2 year relationship halfway through our contracts, our work contract of course (hehe). The situation wasn't catalyzed by a great betrayal or extreme hate, though emotions were certainly strong, confused and melancholic at the time; it was quite simply a case of diverging paths. Since then, we've become more optimistic that each person will find happiness in their pursuits. I tried the dating bit with a swell guy last month, but for a person who's always in relationships, I find I want to take the solo road for a change of perspective.

When I was younger, I would go on a mountain trek with my grandparents most summers. Sometimes it was a small group of us, other times, a greater number of family members. My grandfather, a man altogether of another world, would dispense wise words on these steady walks. He would take in deep breaths and, in his robust voice, encourage me to do the same. As a shy child, I would breathe in a little air and hide how much I enjoyed these rare moments with my busy grandfather who was also my idol. These treks took place on the same mountain every year up this secluded mountain path. And every year, the cicadae sang their trills proudly.


As the cicadae sing to one another, I eavesdrop through my window.


My grandparents passed away within two years of one another. One of my aunts remarked, "They say, if a person dies within two years of their spouse, they were truly in love," and the story continued unsaid that a loved one cannot live on without their other half, so they depart to be whole again. They were buried next to one another on the same mountain.

My grandfather's funeral was unlike anything I have experienced in the West. Three men dressed in white traditional clothes carried his casket up the mountain as everyone followed closely. They would halt at different points and cry, "Oh! He must have lived a full life! His casket is so very heavy" and "His belly must have been full! I don't know if I can carry him any further!" At this point, however inappropriate it may have seemed, I appreciated their humor. Then I was surprised to see them receive money to continue carrying the casket, and I realized the humor in this as well. And, in such a way, I learned a different perspective on death and change.

One of my favorite proverbs to teach my students is that time and tide wait for no man. Like the changing of the seasons, the cicada will continue to shed its skin, leaving it behind on the bark.


I guess the strong wind outside has made the cicadae cease their singing until next time.

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