My body can tell it's nearing the end of the trip. Walking about Seoul, my strides shorten and slow. I take to solitary isolation, reflection. I am more prone to tears.
It is always bittersweet, this leaving. I can tell I am ready to go home, and yet...and yet, and yet.
As soon as I board the plane, turn my face toward the western shore of California, my bones long for Korean soil.
My heart aches to understand Korea, her people, her paradoxes. But sometimes I wonder whether it is just tilting at windmills. From home, in my sunlit bedroom office, it always seems as if it is just out of reach, this comprehension. If I could just be there, everything would become illuminated. And when I am here, it seems so far out of reach.
I am walking around in circles about Seoul. No clear destination determined. My footsteps slow, slow, slow. Soon, like a pendulum winding down, I will simply stop. Motion will cease, and I will be at the end. It will be time to go home.