insadong and immigration.

Sometimes I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to envision my exact location on a map of the world. Right now I am in Asia. South Korea. Seoul. Insadong. An entire ocean separates me from my home, and yet strangely this place is becoming more familiar every day. I know the subway system, the sound of the language, the districts of the city. I have Korean friends that I talk to daily. The writing that used to look complicated and mysterious is now somewhat easy to decipher. The more I travel the smaller the world seems. Korean, Chinese, Thai, Cambodian, American…we’re all basically the same.

Today I needed to get away from the chaos of the city and just explore, think, and let my mind wander. After spending a quiet morning at home in my apartment, I hopped on the subway and headed over to Insadong. I love the eclectic feel of this neighborhood. Right now I am sitting on the second floor of a street side café just watching life happen below. I love the change in perspective. Sometimes I prefer to be an observer rather than a participant. From where I am sitting I can see people walking along the cobblestone streets, vendors selling an assortment of Korean food, traditional teahouses, stores selling souvenirs, art shops, Hangeul (Korean) written on buildings and signs. A young college student is standing in the middle of the busy alleyway holding a sign above his head that reads, “Free Hugs.” Every so often someone will excitedly wrap their arms around him, glance at their friends, and then burst into laughter. A group of girls just walked in front of the café dressed in white jumpsuits with the letters H, O, P, and E, attached to the front of their clothes. A group of activists is slowly moving down the street carrying signs protesting the 2008 Olympics and China’s treatment of the Falun Gong movement. A woman wearing a colorful Korean Hanbok moves through the crowd, most likely on her way to an important event. As my friends and I often said while traveling Southeast Asia, “Welcome to exotic!”

I love lazy Saturday afternoons spent in Asia.

I have been reading a book for the last few weeks entitled “Oracle Bones.” Even though I currently live in Korea, I am still fascinated by the rapid development and culture of China. This particular book was written by a young American who spent two years teaching in Fuling, China and now works as a freelance writer in Beijing. His thoughts and insights on China are always moving and inspiring. He so brilliantly captures the idiosyncrasies of the country that make it such an interesting place to learn about at this particular time in history.

One of the main figures in the story is an American immigrant from the Xinjiang region of China (an autonomous territory located in the northeastern part of the country). The author met him while living in Beijing and their friendship has continued on even though the Chinese man has since moved to Washington D.C. One of my favorite things about this book is reading the young Xinjiang native’s account of life in America. His story has caused me to think about the difficulties that so many people have endured in order to obtain freedom. I hate that I’ve lived in America for most of my life without any real thought of the thousands of immigrants that struggle to begin a new life in my country. How did this go unnoticed? I guess I’ve always taken the diversity of America for granted. Living in Asia for the last year and a half has radically altered my perception of the western world. America is a place where we have the freedom to practice any religion we wish, to voice our opinions, to travel and explore with ease, and to express our individuality. I’m not in any way suggesting that America has everything figured out, but I can guarantee you that there is more freedom, diversity, and opportunity to succeed in North America and Western Europe than many people will ever know. However, in seach of hope and brighter future, thousands of people have moved to the United States and have endured unbelievable struggles in the process.

In Korea and China my features cause me to stand out from the crowd. People instantly know that I am different. Because I am an American many people are usually more than willing to accommodate my needs and constantly feed my ego…they struggle to speak English to me in stores, they think I am beautiful because I have a “high nose and big eyes,” and they are eager to learn about my life in the west. However, in America, I don’t even give a second thought to people that appear to come from far away regions of the world. In America it’s common to hear different languages being spoken, to see red and blonde and brown and black hair, to see people of different shapes and sizes. Nothing fazes us. It must be so hard to move to America and being a new life. People rarely take notice of you, they expect you to speak English, and you aren’t given special treatment because you are a foreigner. How strange. I know one of the great things about America is the freedom and diversity that we enjoy. The “American Dream” is more than just an idea; it’s truly a reality for so many people. I guess I just wish that as the melting pot of the world we did more to really embrace our differences, instead of merely being tolerant of them...I don't think those are one in the same. I wish the thousands of immigrants living in America were able to relocate with the same ease that I’ve experienced in moving to Asia.

You and me, we're not so different.