My Korean Barbecue

Awareness gradually nears as my mind flickers erratically back and forth between alternate realities, until the present context and situation presents itself. Coming out of sleep is always a little weirder and takes just a little more time for me to find myself when I’m on travel. However, this morning I feel oddly different as awareness ripples gently from my mind throughout my musculoskeletal system towards my extremities. My neck feels strange and there’s an unusual indication coming from my left scapula. Further down I start sensing additional scattered alarms here and there, including my right wrist, my left bicep, both shins, and miscellaneous toes. Brusquely, I realize it’s pain. Ouch, I think to myself and I’m now starting to hurt all over.

As full consciousness approaches I wonder: Have I been running with the bulls in Pamplona? Sitting near the Russians at a Euro Soccer match? No—suddenly it all comes back to me: I had a massage at the Foot Shop in Dongdaemun, Seoul, in South Korea. Two unremarkable little women with naturally formed boney knuckledusters: Kneading, rolling, compressing, squishing, and tenderizing my flesh. It’s not like I didn’t try to give them feedback—I was groaning like a multi-car accident, but to no avail as they continued to pound away, mechanically, as though they were basting pork for a Korean barbecue.

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This was the best part: At the beginning in our jim-jams and so full of hope.

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Still a lot of expectant hope here …

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.. and the shattering of illusions ..

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