A room with a view

Jet lag is tossing my body around like a limp wet noodle. Adjusting to the difference in social ettiquette hasn't been too easy. I keep forgetting to stop crossing my legs and to refrain from using certain phrases. Even though my face blends in, I can't help but notice stares from some.

The smell of Korean pores omitting digested kimchi odours on the subway system and the occasional sewer-scented breeze on the streets reminds me that I am not in Kansas anymore.

Part of my nightly ritual consisted of bedtime prayer inside of a room with a cross hung on the wall. Now I just look outside of my window.

My first weekend, unforgettable.


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