Tracing My Roots - Inspired By Korea

In just one short year in an ever-modernizing South Korea, I have seen commonplace things that are remarkable to my American eyes. Boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives are often together but hardly touch. Instead, girl friends hold hands and link arms. Boy friends sit on each other's laps with their arms around the other's waist. Young mothers to old grandmothers strap babies to their backs, holding them securely as they stroll through the neighborhood. In public, fathers cuddle their little sons and daughters as they sleep. Mothers, sisters, daughters, girl friends shower, bathe and steam naked together, scrubbing each other and chatting away about their everyday lives. (Probably similar on the male side). Families and groups of friends and coworkers dig into communal plates for their meals, no matter whose chopsticks or spoon or lips have touched the food. If it is a restaurant, there is no question that the older or senior person will pay for the meal. So normal. So natural.

Why is this is so striking to me? I was born in Russia, but I was raised in the United States. I have spent most of my short life in a culture that at its best is open, friendly, and fiercely independent. At its worst, American culture - especially in The City - is isolating, alienating, devoid of communal feeling or solidarity with those around us. Families live divided and far apart, friends have time to text and instant message but are too busy to meet for a drink, aging sickly parents and grandparents are put away in retirement homes, out of sight and out of mind. We barely exchange words with the next-door neighbor with whom we share a wall. Touching people of the same sex means you're gay or creepy. Family members overly touching children, especially naked children, raises eyebrows. Everybody needs their own personal space. We are afraid of making a commitment.

So what do we do? If we are alternative-minded, we try our best to recreate the communal structure that we so yearn for but have grown up without. Those who identify as women organize special circles to discuss our struggles, our hopes, our dreams, our triumphs. We choose our friends to be our family in collective houses. We cook, eat and do chores together. We try to support each other in our individual pursuits while also working for common causes. We work to be honest and transparent in our romantic and sexual partnerships.

People who value freedom may say that having no rules is a virtue. Relationships are naturally rife with uncertainty and complications. But after spending time in a culture with an unwritten social order, where everyone knows their place - I have come to see this flip side as a kind of liberation and a blessing. As opposed to the West, where laws seem to govern just about every part of our lives and we are encouraged to police one other, Koreans are brought up with certain implicit behavior codes. This is the only place I have lived where people routinely leave their personal belongings in a public place - train, bus, cafe, restaurant, movie theather - and don't worry about it getting stolen. People look out for each other and help each other because it's the right thing to do.

***

In the fall, I wrote this in an email to a friend back home:

Being in Korea, a land where people have roots going back thousands of years, who are descended from the flesh and blood of early nomads, villagers, farmers. Most of us in Amerika don't know this meaning of identity, of truly belonging to a piece of land instead of owning it. Amerika committed a great crime by systematically erasing people whose identity was bound up with the forests, mountains, rivers, valleys of this land.

But as you say, we have paid the price for our freedom. We have paid with our psyches, with the violence, seen, heard, felt, that we inflict on ourselves, on each other, on our surroundings in a desperate attempt to own and to control that which is just outside of our grasp - belonging.

After a year here, I have become determined to see if going back to Russia and tracing my family history will help me become a whole person. My family comes from the city and they were blue and white collar workers, whatever that means in Soviet times. But what secrets may lie within these intertwining stories? What kinds of things are hidden in the past that may help me understand who I am today and where I may be going? From Moscow, to Moldova, Ukraine, Belarussia, Siberia, all scattered across the great Eurasian continent, what kinds of men and women were my ancestors? What paths led them to create an evolving family tree? What were their passions, their skills, their hopes and dreams?

I know longer want to be a rootless creature with no attachment to the land. I want to know the place from where my life has its roots. So, in 2014, after my second year in Korea finishes, I plan to take the Transsiberian railroad from China and Mongolia to my true motherland. I want to visit villages, farms and forests. I want to see and ache for the disparity between the crumbling countryside and the gleaming cities.

I want to unlock the doors. More to come...

[Jan. 2, 2026 Note] For some reason, this journey did not happen in 2014 but in the summer of 2017, and it was very different from how it was described here. Here are the photos: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26711227@N06/albums/72157686008021722/

Last U.S. Days of 2012

I'm making a commitment to update this blog at least once a week for the rest of the year. Not an easy task, I'm sure, but since my mind is constantly working to keep straight an ever-expanding accumulation of interests, personal memories and world events, it seems that writing it out is the path to keeping sane. Also, I am about to embark on a whole new journey on a small Asian peninsula.

I left Houston one week ago. Being on the road again, even if it's actually flying in evil planes and actually staying in familiar family's houses, is what feels most like home. I've started journalling again in earnest, reading longwinded fiction in the form of Murakami's The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, using the beautiful & awesome new Slingshot to keep organized and learning basic Korean with the help of these badass Koreans.

In Denver, everything was covered in snow and huge icicles, a reminder that yes, it is still winter and I'll be in for a rude awakening in my new home. Also in Denver, my Russian-speaking grandfather remains largely the same and despite his being 60 years my senior, I can't help but call him out on statements like "Listen to a woman, do the opposite," "Humans are evil (or something)," "The East is a dark place," etc. etc.

Now I'm in the Bay Area, reconnecting with my cousins, college friend Michaela, and filmmaker Rob Nilsson. Rob and I had a pretty interesting conversation about art, politics & society today. It was sunny, I was in a good mood and I felt like taking the side of fighting the system by doing our own thing and not overly concerning ourselves with the system. On other days and depending on who I talk to, I'll take a far more critical and negative view of the situation radicals, especially radical artists, find themselves in. In general, though, my distaste for authority cuts through everything and I feel that putting some kind of artificial standards and rules on creative expression still does more harm than good.

Oakland and Berkeley have evolving resistance communities and I could spend years exploring them as I could Boston or Denver or Lille or Houston, but all I have is these few short days. The reality is, I will very soon be pulled away from all these familiar elements of life. There will be no readily accessible anarchist social spaces with books and consensus meetings and shows and vegan food. No regular community bike rides. No women's discussions. At least not in Gangwon-do, where I will spend the majority of my time. There will be a vast number of new places, people and memories that I can't even imagine as I sit here. No matter how much I absorb from books and the Internet, I could never adequately prepare myself for the massive change that is about to take place in my life. The biggest one yet.

Korea, take me in...

Occupy Everything?

“Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.” - Arundhati Roy 

 

2011, the year our collective, burning desire for freedom could no longer be contained. The media couldn't black it out. Our instinct for denial and "everything's going to be OK" couldn't hold under pressure. From North Africa to Spain to Greece - the beginning and possible end of Western civilization - the rise-up reverberated. And finally, it couldn't stay away from U.S. shores. 

 

As we all stand at the dawn of this "new year" - as far as our meticulous, calendar control of time really means anything - I feel an overwhelming, sharp awareness of surroundings. So aware, I could fill a giant canvas, write an entire book, drink a whole bottle of wine, walk through the woods all day in celebration. But for now, it feels right to remain content with just the real moments. A friendship-affirming New Year's celebration on a bike trail, a walk through downtown, a drunken rooftop party, an extended snuggle with three big cats and a beautiful sunny New Year's Day with reflections in the park and more exploration by bike. All the moments like these from 2011, I could fill up pages and pages retelling them. From New Year's in Vigo, Spain to Morocco in February to bike rides through the Flemish countryside in the spring, to No Border and Greece and Bulgaria and the Critical Mass in Paris to teaching and living in Lille in between. What binds them all together is the great fortune of crossing paths with amazing, life-changing human beings. 

 

Besides the travel posts, politics hasn't really made an appearance here yet. But politics is a big part of this journey. Specifically, the politics of resistance. Going to Europe highly undereducated on what resistance looks like there, let alone a good idea of what I wanted my own resistance to look like produced overwhelming results. A high-speed race through a kaleidoscope of social center concerts, meetings, big public demonstrations, dumpster diving, free vegan meals, documentaries & discussions, direct action immigrant solidarity work, gardens, bike rides, organic food, carnivals, feminist spaces, radical teaching, etc. etc. And a constant nagging feeling of being the floating American tourist, of not doing enough.

Since coming to Houston and despite staying at my mom's place outside of the city, I have made a concerted effort to connect the dots of all that I've learned with the here and now. And finally, painfully I come to realize that we can't and shouldn't try to "Occupy Everything." A huge part of my current journey is learning to recognize and embrace the spaces that I want to occupy in my regular life. This means not going to every single meeting, event or show because it seems like "the right thing to do." It means listening to my body and head and how they react to different circumstances. It means being in control of my comfort levels and knowing the right times to step out of that zone. It means being more assertive, straightforward and focused on passions and carefully choosing with whom to share them. Above all, it means being aware.

The time here is growing into a microcosm of my life, including all my various screwed-up relationships and bitter internal battles. I have 2-3 weeks to wait for that ever elusive 12-month teaching placement in South Korea. The closer February gets, the more frustrating the process. The harder to retail cashier during a busy holiday season and come home to my mother's unhappy house. Yet again and again, I am filled with the desire of letting it all flow, grasping the possibility for magic in any place, at any time. The prospect of staying in place - enduring - and engaging in a vision of community living and radical organizing suddenly seems like a viable and totally valid option. I told myself that post-Europe 2011 would bring amazing, unexpected experiences and the premonition has proven true. When I look at it holistically, when I see the big picture, it seems more right than I could ever imagine. 

We spoke of the Tao and I am rapidly plowing through this newer classic  on stepping outside of modern life. Interconnectedness, from a radical perspective, means recognizing that no person is an island and there is no individual problem that can't be tied to our collective broken spirit and disconnect from ourselves. Those of us facing the challenge of building sustainable communities from an infrastructure of fragmented, isolated life on our dying planet come up against nothing short of unlearning, deconstructing and creating something new. 

I am still sick on the inside. I still grapple with a host of demons every day. But I am filled with energy and anticipation of where this journey will lead next.

Another World is Possible

No Surface, All Feeling

Travelling mentality - in which one adopts or develops a constant tendency to see and do as much as possible, as time is always limited 

The perpetual state of loss - the desire and inability to belong in a community, missing all that has come before and all that could be - elsewhere

If anyone is interested in or irrationally doubting the livability and coolness of HTX, I'm here to say you are wrong. Or mistaken. Or naturally misguided by stereotypes and misconceptions. It's too bad that I haven't been carrying my cameras around at all. It's still hard for me to place Houston on the travel map, as somewhere that merits visual memory. Maybe I assume I will always come back here, that my family will always make me call it chez moi. I'm peeling back layers of the onion each day and this city keeps revealing its mysteries. Tonight at the Down Together zine-making party, I was feeling overwhelmed by the number of people from my different "lives" that came together in one space. What an absurd feeling, after spending less than 4 months in a place! To have such a strong urge to integrate instead of just visit and explore. 

It was good that I could discuss the Occupy problems with others, I really needed to listen and commiserate. The resignation and boredom of Tranquility Park, the attacks on Wall Street and not being able to be there, the imminent decline of the local infoshop has made me frustrated to try to be a radical in the here and now. It was also good that I decided to stay at the zine apartment the whole night instead of going to the fiction/poetry reading at the gallery. For fuck's sake, shut off the travelling mentality for one night and enjoy the present moment. 

I have learned that I am supposed to aid in my personal liberation and growth by just being myself and focusing on others when I interact. But I just wish people would say to my face "Shut up, you're annoying me." Maybe I can learn to read their facial expressions and body language. My self-consciousness is at a level and degree that I can't remember since even before adolescence. I was an only child until age 12.5 and it seems that all these years, I have failed to shed my shelter, isolation and desperation for attention. Stop being a fucking hypocrite. If you care so much about cooperative living, start by living cooperatively with the person who gave birth to you. Take care of the space. Be kind. Listen. Don't treat your mother like a pest or a stranger.

We Are The Dreamers of Dreams

In further psychological exploration, I went to bookstore of The Jung Center of Houston, a place that I had passed for years but never understood, seriously thought about or considered visiting. I was overwhelmed by all the books, as usual, so I decided to start with Jung's autobiography, which is really an account of Carl Jung's inner experiences, not a mere recounting of events as they occurred. In this sense, time and accuracy become far less important than feeling and reflection. 

I have a burning desire to write every day, but I rarely fulfill it.

Working at Target is like taking an anthropology class. Next week is the deadly Black Friday, or for us secret and not-so-secret anarchists and anti-capitalists, Buy Nothing Day. I will indeed be working the 10-hour overnight shift, 11:45-9:45. Fortunately, I am also pretty much opposed to the ritual celebration of Thanksgiving, so I'll try to get to a No Thanks dinner that night instead. Fortunately, my ass. I still want to spend time with my family and friends, not force myself to take sleeping pills during the day. Not only that, they put me on an early Saturday shift the next day. Why do I continue working there, one might ask? Why don't I get another job, or at least more work on top of it? Because I am tired and overwhelmed and only want to focus on getting to Korea. Excuses, excuses.

If I go to Korea in February, that will put my time in Houston at a full seven months, the same amount of time that I spent in the teaching assistant program. Such disparate back-to-back experiences, punctuated by an entirely different summer in Southeastern Europe. Not a day goes by that multiple, layered visions of other, wholly familiar and far-away places don't meander through my head.

I am trying to write a coherent entry, but I'm too upset by watching the Occupy Wall Street livestream. In the early hours of November 15, 2011, the United States' 21st century people's revolt is being thoroughly and violently crushed. We must stand in solidarity. "Peaceful protest" will not prevent violence, as we see again and again.  

http://occupywallst.org/