Leaving Korea

Dear Gareth,

I started writing a poem about the after-effects; the good things and the not so good. I erased it. I started to write about birthdays and how they feel different now. I erased that, too. I feel the certain itch that only writing relieves, but I can't figure out where exactly I'm itching. I just know writing directly to you at least got my scratching fingernails on the right limb.

Here's what I want to write to you about.

I remember that terrible implosion across the internet- me in Thailand on the eve of my return to Korea from what had been a great vacation and you in your apartment in Gyeongju in a state of alcohol-fueled distress. I had wanted to talk about my concerns, but I had not wanted to do so until we could be face-to-face. "Are you leaving me?" you wrote. "Are you leaving me?"

Dear Gareth- Do you know I am leaving Korea in 18 days? Of course, you must. I am returning to St. Louis for a few weeks and then heading on to Portland, where I hope to make a new home. I am opening my heart for all types of new things and I have been making space for this in the past few months.

 I am leaving Korea after 3.5 years. I am returning home.

"Are you leaving me?" I couldn't hear your voice, but I could sense your panic. It was growing. It was bleeding through the screen.

"I am not leaving you," I wrote back. "I have to step aside from the relationship for a bit while you get help or not, and while I figure out what I'm willing to do."

I am not leaving Korea. I am stepping outside of its physical boundaries. I am taking it with me.

"I am not leaving you."

Korea will always be woven into the makeup of my being. How can I separate myself from where I met myself?

"Tell me you're leaving! Tell me! Is that what you're doing?! Are you leaving me?!" 

You were in full panic. You were not making sense. You were unintelligible. I was terrified. I was crushed. I was wanting you well. 

"No. I am not leaving you. I have to step away from this. This is not good for me. I am really wanting you to be well, and I don't know how to make that happen. I can't make that happen." 

Did I leave you?

I am leaving Korea in 18 days.

I don't know how I could have done it better. I'm not sure how I could have done it differently. I thought I was "detaching with love." You felt I had tossed you overboard and cut all ropes back to the boat.

I am detaching from Korea with love. This glass globe I lived in and shook and shook and watched things float and glitter and fall and never quite settle.

"Are you leaving me?"  

In the hospital I told you I would not leave you. That I was here now, and I would remain so. I brushed your brows with my thumb and I told you your family was coming. I kissed the tip of your nose and told you that you were not alone. I placed my hand on the side of your cheek and I promised you that I would not leave. Did you hear me make that promise?

I am leaving Korea in 18 days.

Did you leave me?

What is this- this slipping off of the map, this shifting from one country to another, or from a hospital bed in Gyeongu to a place I can no longer describe? What is left when neither of our footsteps are felt on Korean soil?

Did you know you were leaving?

You left when you knew it was time. Your family had arrived, save your loves back home looking after things while mum, dad, and one brother came to be with you. We had been back in the provided apartment but for a few hours when we got the call to return. You were leaving.

I'm leaving Korea in 18 days. I am selling my things. Throwing many things out. A kind man is moving into my apartment and buying much of what I have here. I am preparing to leave.

How did you prepare to leave?

We emptied your apartment of its contents. I was struck by your toothbrush and tube of toothpaste balancing behind the bathroom sink on a small ledge. I was struck by the dirty clothes in your laundry room. By the dirty dishes in the sink. By the things recently used, recently worn, and never returned to. You had no idea when you left just a few evenings before that you would not be coming back.

Did you have any idea? Maybe in some way you did.

I want you here with me as I touch everything I own in my apartment. I want you to help me say goodbye to books and little talismans, and people, and hills.

Can I be leaving you if you are not here?

"Are you leaving me? Tell me. I need to know."

I am leaving Korea.

I did not leave you. I type it again. I did not leave you.

I type it as many times as I need to see it.

I did not leave you. I am not leaving you. 

Until I believe it.

I am leaving Korea in 18 days. I am not leaving you. 

And forgive me if I am. Forgive me if I did.

Help me forgive myself.