Money is a problem, money's always a problem! I've probably got about 200 quid to land 5,500 miles away from home with and it's got to last me a month, until i get my first pay packet.There's no benefit system, no NHS, no family and no friends who can help me if it goes pear shaped, just me and my crumpled vertebrae.
Kieran's parents had said they would help (remember Kieran, the mate who drove me into the wall...). It turned out that he wasn't insured to be driving at all and his Mum and step dad came to see me, all apologies and 'how can we help'? They were obviously worried about being sued or some form of legal action but that's not how I roll, I made the decision to get into that car and it's down to me to deal with the consequences.
I asked them for help buying the girls some presents over Christmas because they offered but I was fobbed of with some bullshit excuses. It might be worth a shot though so I call them for the second time ever, they had originally seemed sincerely sorry about their son breaking my back, but it doesn't go well. I end the phone call after the step dad grabs the phone and informs me that my constant harassment is not welcome and is causing undue stress on the family... well gee thanks for nothing, I'll just take my crushed, mangled and shattered body away then, sorry to bother you guys, hope Kieran's sprained wrist is all better now!
Dad's skint so no joy there as is my sister, the only money I have is from her anyway and she's helped so much I can't ask for more. In the end it's my go to guy Mr Howie who steps in and doubles my bankroll, thanks Gogs. £400, a knackered body, hope, a steely determination to survive and it's Heathrow here I come for the 11 and a half hour flight to Korea!
There's heat in the air when i step off the plane, it's March now but it was chilly in the England i left behind. I've took my temporary cast off as my injuries didn't come up in my interview and I don't see any reason to start on a negative footing or by inducing any sympathy. I'm looking for an exit or smoking area but I've already been spotted by a suited, distinguished Korean gent holding a board up with 'Mr Free' written on it, I hope the spelling at the school will be better and that it's not a forewarning of what he expects to pay me as I make my way over and introduce myself.
He's Mr Kim, my boss and the director of the school/academy that I will be working in. He looks about 50 but tells me that he's nearing his 70th birthday. His English is pretty broken and as he's the first Korean I've ever met I haven't got the nuances or any experience of Korean communication to help me. He's very formal and apart from a brief smile on greeting me he's adopted a slightly unfriendly manner by western standards but as I will find out it's the standard out here, no smiles. I show him some English cash with a shrug of my shoulders and he walks me over to a change bureau where I instantly become absolutely loaded, my 400 quid buys me nearly 800,000 in Korean won! What was I worried about being skint for... I fold up the wad of cash as Mr Kim watches on before leading me out to his people carrier.
The drive to Cheonan is about 90 minutes but with the tiredness, my desperate need for a fag which went unsated at the airport and the agony coming up from my imploring back ('put the bloody cast on' it's saying!) the 90 feel like 300. The driving is mental, it's not just that we're on the wrong side of the road. I don't see one head turn from straight on to check left or right as we plough down the 'expressway' and cars cut across us, undertake, overtake, slam the brakes on for no reason and every couple of minutes bang on the hazards for an invisible unknown reason! One good thing is that all the signs are in Kilometres and they fly past much quicker than miles.
When we turn off the expressway and into the city of Cheonan the driving is even worse, there just doesn't seem to be any rules. I react to every potential impact and as I'm sat on the driver side for England I'm pumping the non existent brake pedal like a maniac! When I ask why we're going through a red light my new boss informs me that the red is only 'be careful' and not stop...
Eventually we arrive at an apartment block in what seems to me to be a quiet enough neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city. It's Sunday evening and my politeness is nearing its limits as Mr Kim offers to take me to the supermarket to get some supplies. Given the circumstances though and the fact that I have nothing at all to eat or drink I accept and after dumping my baggage and getting my first quick view of 'home' we head straight back out. Luckily the supermarket is only around the corner, literally a 2 minute walk away from my door.
It's a 6 storey affair with everything a Korean could ever need! The first two stories are devoted to clothes and fashion, third is food, fourth is a food court serving all kinds of food that I've never seen before, fifth toys, sports stuff and household essentials such as bog roll and toothpaste, and sixth is electrical and furniture. I grab a few bits, bread that turns out to not be bread, milk, cereal and coffee, just enough to be polite and show that I'm all good in this very foreign environment before Mr Kim finally drops me home and after walking me through the apartments' heating, washing machine and cooker he seems satisfied that I'll survive the 15 hours before he comes to get me for work.
I suck the life out of what is probably the second nicest cigarette of my life and I'm dizzy after just a drag or two. It's getting dark as I come to terms with my apartment, I'm really glad it's on the ground floor with my irrational fear of heights, I get nervous anywhere above a height that would break bones. I remember discussing my fear with someone and they asked me why I had an irrational fear... well if I could explain that it wouldn't be bloody irrational would it!!
My mind creates scenario after scenario in which i fall to my death as soon as I get up anywhere high, I think it stems from a recurring dream I had as a kid in which I was hurtling along down a zip wire thousands of feet in the air and gradually losing my grip as I morph into the Michelin man. As the final act of transformation happens, my fingers pop out becoming massive inflated sausages and I lose my grip on the handle and fall through the air, waking myself up with the sheer terror of it all. Yeah I guess in retrospect the Michelin man is probably not the scariest but anyhow, it doesn't matter as I'm on the ground floor!
'Che Roy' has two rooms, one a bathroom on the right as you enter, and then the main room containing a kitchenette, with gas burner and microwave, left opposite the bathroom. Opening out from there is a not big but not too small living area with a TV in the corner and nothing else but built in cupboards, shelving and a worktop with an office chair. It takes me about an hour to work out that the big cupboard is actually a fold down bed which is a bit of a relief as the wooden effect floor would have done my back no good at all. I fold it down into the position it will hold for the coming two and a half years, find some blankets and cushions in my cupboards, smoke another fag and realise what I've done.
I'm 5000 miles from anyone I know, 5000 miles from any family. 5000 miles from my 3 little angels. I wanted to get away from the heartbreak, away from the recrimination, the circular and damaging rehashing of the same old problems and I've done it. There's no sense of relief though, just a big gaping emptiness and the reality that with just 360 odd quid in a currency I've yet to work out I am truly alone.
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