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Promises, Post 1

Promises (tentative title)

I've tried to start this twice. The first time I wrote promises. The second time I wrote that I wrote promises but they were private.

Cathreen seems to have a complicated relationship with these essays. I am doing my best to keep them friends.

When we met, Cathreen and I were teachers at a school in Dongnae-gu, and I was ready to leave Korea after being here less than a week. My boss had arranged my housing--a ten-by-ten room with red lights ringing the ceiling, a round bed in the middle, a tv that showed porn, and a single window that hardly let in light. I later learned to call this a love motel, and to identify the cards on the stairs as calling cards for hookers. The heat and isolation kept me inside this room all day. For meals, I ate Frosted Flakes from the box and washed them down with milk.

Cathreen was what made me stay. I have been back six times since. I am writing this essay not to explode our life here but to record how we beat the odds.

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