Early Days Part 0: The move

NOTE: Getting ready to come home has got me thinking a lot about when I came here. Really, this is Early Days part 5 or 6 or something, but I think it's more appropriately titled part 0 because this all takes place before I even CAME to Korea.

I was looking for jobs on the internet when I came across the ad by accident. Teachers Wanted: South Korea. I remembered that just a few months earlier, I was looking at jobs in Japan, and I had nearly taken one. I wanted to see the world, no question, but was I ready? I saved the link and then moved on to look at other jobs.

As I browsed the jobs, my mind kept coming back to working overseas: when else would I be able to do this? I had no job, I had no school, and I had no other things tying me down. Certainly, in just a few months I'd have these things. A job, a girlfriend, which would eventually lead to a better job, maybe a wife, maybe kids. I'd never have an opportunity like this again in my life.

I typed Korea into a search engine and came up with other jobs: Seoul, Busan, Daegu, Daejon. I looked them all over. I looked up Japan, Taiwan, the Phillipines. I found many that I was qualified for. I called and IMed some friends for advice, all of whom where terribly supportive (you know who you are). After thinking about it for about a day (or for years depending on how you look at it), I started filling out applications.

My first call came that night. So did my second. The ball was rolling. I had interviews within 24 hours. I had contracts went to me within a few days. By the end of the week, I had already made my decision. After being offered two jobs in Korea, one in Japan, one in Taiwan, and one in the Phillipines, I decided to take the job in Daejon Korea. The other Korean job was in Seoul, a city of ten million people. Honestly, I didn't take the job out of fear. I'm glad I didn't: Daejon is much more "Korean" than Seoul. Seoul is certainly a nice place to visit and a beautiful city, but I wouldn't want to live there.

I started applying for passports and visas the next week. I started packing. I started letting friends borrow things and having going away parties. But what I was doing didn't really hit me until my final week in the US. I got scared. VERY scared.

Was this the right thing to do? What if I got there and I hated it? What if things didn't work out, or I got hurt, or something happened back home? I tried to put on a tough face, but I was scared out of my mind. I almost called it all off as I packed away my final belongings and headed over to my parents' house. Could I even handle this?

One thing that I'll always remember about my last week in the US is my going away party with friends. People who I had grown very close with over the last few years all gathered at my house, and quietly sipped wine and beer. We sat outside chatting until almost 4 in the morning. Those people are all over the US now: I'll never get a night like that again.

I was physically sick when I headed up to the airport. Because of parties and nervousness, I hadn't slept in two days. I was tired and my stomach was killing me. We packed all my stuff into the car, and there was a certain finality to everything that was unsettling. I thought we would be late, but we ended up having an extra hour to kill before I boarded the plane.

I'm glad the goodbyes were muted: I don't think I could have handled an emotional goodbye.

R