So now I’ve been to 1/4 of the countries that UN secretaries general have come from.
Sometimes I wonder what has happened to me, how many little packets of “Korean coffee” that I can suck down without feeling a thing, how much I think about sleeping, how impossible it is to stay up past 11 o’clock anymore. But then I think about that phase I went through when I would drink three shots of espresso before class.
Yesterday a third grade teacher lent me magnets because, as another teacher said, the third grade teacher loves me. (A woman, not a man, so we are not creeped out.) She said “like” in Korean but translated it to “love” in English. The Korean English teacher elaborated, “You have adjusted very well here.”
I’m glad they think so. Means that I have managed to conceal my intense, weekly desire to pull out my hair. But I don’t know that I will be my normal self until I am living in a western country again, where the coffee shops sell brewed coffee, not just espresso drinks. Where people carry commuter mugs. Where $10 of ground coffee isn’t Maxwell House. It’s not that I’m addicted to coffee. I’m obsessed.