Memory Lane (Part II)

I spent my final month in Canada before leaving for Korea playing a lot of basketball, watching movies and drinking -- sometimes at the same time -- with friends, deciding what to bring and what to leave behind (the latter of which I later had many regrets), and answering questions such as "how exactly are you gonna teach Korean kids when you don't even speak Korean?" and the ever-popular "are you going to North Korea or South Korea?"

Until the final week before my departure I didn't think much about where I was heading to or what I was supposed to do once I arrived there; but that last week a gnawing fear set in, not because I felt that I was unprepared, but because I am morbidly afraid of flying. At the time, I wasn't concerned about what duties I might have at my new job, nor what cultural discoveries and adversities I might face. All I foresaw was darkness. I honestly believed that I was going to die on the flight over.

The evening before my flight I watched the Academy Awards broadcast. The next morning I awoke a ball of nerves. I have no idea how this fear of flying was born, but it is still very real and very, very frightening. Every time I board a flight, I feel as though I'm stepping into a massive tomb. Keep in mind that this was before 9/11. After that tragedy, my phobia increased tenfold.

As I was saying, I was grimly afraid the day of my departure. My flight wasn't until 11pm, so I spent most of the day like a man condemned to death. For dinner, I asked my folks to order a large Pizza Hut stuffed-crust pizza. Believing it my last meal, I ate four slices (or maybe it was five).

My folks drove me to the airport. My full stomach provided some calm, despite my fear. One episode during the drive to the airport is forever etched in my memory: my parents began to argue over some trivial matter, and I remember thinking this is what I'm getting away from. I hope to god I never have to hear it again.

I boarded the plane after a tearful goodbye from my mother, and a prosaic one from my old man. I took my seat and fruitlessly tried to calm my nerves by reading a newspaper. My heart was beating hard, my pulse throbbing. When the plane started to taxi, I thought it would leap into the air at any moment, ignorant of the take-off procedure because I hadn't flown in almost ten years. I noticed a guy, who was roughly my age, sitting across the aisle from me and offered him a stick of gum (my throat was so dry that I dared not to speak). When I reached over to hand it to him, both he and I noticed that my hand was shaking like someone stricken with Parkinson's. An elderly couple from Taiwan occupied the middle and window seats to my right. I was very thankful that they didn't try to strike up a conversation. I thought I was going to lose it.

When the plane took off, I wouldn't look out the window. The moment I knew we were airborne I was overcome by the greatest panic I've ever felt. It took a lot of fortitude to keep a somewhat calm facade, all the while my conscious mind writhing and begging to scream, like someone struggling to breathe, land this plane, oh for the love of god, please land this plane now!

The flight to Korea is a long one, and, probably due to the brain's chemical safety mechanisms, I eventually got some peace, instead of having to be tranquilized by flight attendants; though I got no sleep, because despite my raging endorphins, I was still very much afraid; and the Taiwanese couple's frequent needs to use the lavatory, coupled with the stewards' proclivity to bump into my aisle-straying left leg, made sleep impossible. Stupidly, I took a Gravol, hoping that it would knock me out. It didn't, and ended up making me more tired than ever. By the time the plane landed in Alaska to refuel, I was a zombie.

Taking off from Alaska, I was a lot less nervous. I tried to read, but was too tired and ended up reading the first sentence from John Irving's The Cider House Rules again and again. Then I tried watching a drama they were showing. It was some typical Korean melodrama. The odd thing was that there was no sound, even through the use of headphones; and the drama was subtitled only in Chinese, rather than Korean. Weird. Of course at the time, me being the complete ignoramus I was (and possibly still am), I assumed the Chinese characters were Korean ones.

Finally, exhausted and on the verge of collapsing, I arrived at Gimpo (then) International Airport. It took me about 30 minutes to fill out my arrival card. I wish I were joking. I hadn't had sleep for close to 40 hours, was in desperate need of a shower and a shave, and would have killed for a cigarette.

Needless to say, when I was met, after clearing customs, by the academic coordinator of my school, I didn't exactly inspire confidence. The first thing she remarked about was how tired I looked. The second was how remarkably young I looked. Never heard that one before.

"We have some students who look older than you," she chided.