Thoughts on smiling:

I was the welcome recipient of a stranger's magnificent smile this afternoon. I was walking (rather quickly as I tend to do) out of the subway station on my way to work when I chanced to look up, make eye contact with a smiling young woman, and continue on my way. During the five-minute walk to work I was musing on the effect a simple smile can have on a person. I started watching my mind wander through the days when I used to smile more, to the rationale behind the smiles I feel I've lost, and what I can offer in their stead with such as I have to give.

This led to a momentary recapitulation, with some brief instantaneous apparitions of meandering rabbit trails, of different interpretations and motivations behind smiles, and their potential meanings and readings in the mind, but I tried my best to deter the worst of those and keep focused on the higher, purer, pleasure of the experience.

Eventually my thoughts turned down a familiar path, and then a took a few more twists and turns which I won't detail here, lest my intentions get bogged down in the quagmire of recollections as opposed to the soaring revelations I intend, at any rate, I took the turn towards the mountain-path of love and thoroughly enjoyed the stroll.

So, to get back on track, a smile is just a smile, but it's still a choice, or the consequence of one, and as such there is a certain measure of control over such a simple action. The same is true, or could be true, of all manifestations of love, from the inarticulate to the incalculable expressions that pass between people circumnavigating existence (were existence round). Letters of love have spanned time, stories of love have crossed cultures, actions motivated by love have united enemies, and one in particular has abolished all rebuttals against what love can do.

I rely a lot on words. My final thought spawned from that smile was that love needs more than words; it still needs words, but it needs the smiles too, and all the greater things, but I should start by smiling more.

- Foster

An introspective look at [the love life of] a "City Boy"

When you live too long alone, with no real sense of place, you begin to manufacture love in different ways. It’s the cities who have kept me sane in my solitude. This goes out to those I’ve known, I’ll leave the naming up to you.

You’re the first I claimed to love, who I never really knew. Still I thought you beautiful, and longed to know you with intimacy. I never learned your secrets. I always lived too far away. Still when I think of home, I always speak your name.

My greatest love remains the one so many claimed to love. You had everything and offered more than I ever could partake. Still there lurks a darkness, a secret shame or two, and while the mask you wear is magnificent, it propels you beyond my reach. Still, I tried to learn your avenues, I wandered in your streets, but in my attempt to love you, you’re the one who proved untrue. That doesn't mean I won't find me lost in you again. You remain my deepest, truest love, for the memories and dreams that have idealized you in me.

Beautiful beyond my means, I had to see you to believe. The beach, the streets, the glam and guts: you boast much for one so young. Many have succumbed to your siren call, not to say I wouldn’t too had I more to offer you. I saw you with a chaperone and guide, still I dared to dream that one day I could find myself wrapped inside your embrace.

I dated some in Africa, guarding fresh wounds from the former two. I was warned of Joburg before we met, and risked little in her care. Livingston had some allure, but only for missing those I knew. Lusaka, Kasama, Moroguro, Kigoma, were all stops along the way. Bujumbura was our destination, but disappointed in her way. Leaving her we met Kigali, Kampala and Entebbe. My traipsing through Africa left me indebted more to love the little things I missed.

Still in returning to, and visiting, these former loves of mine, I was, in turn, compelled to leave again. Now I’m the furthest away I’ve ever been. I’m a stranger with you who has been my constant company. I’m far from home, and though I still don’t know where that could be, I feel foreign when I’m with you. Soul for some proves flesh for me, and I'm looking deeper still. Not sure what more I have to find but, as always, time will tell.

- Foster

Thoughts on a thought:

I reached an epiphany in casual, quippy, conversation the other day. In wishing a friend well, by way of "Have a great day!" or something to that effect. The response came back that my friend would have a good day, but not so much so as to make the other days jealous.

I found that comment to contain a kernel of pathos, almost as though my friend were wanting mediocrity, which I doubt was the case; I'm sure my friend sought only stability, or perhaps didn't want to profess to too much expectation given any particular one day, or perhaps was simply exercising the ample wit that is my friend's to wield. In any case, my response was, "Every day should be jealous of tomorrow."

I've taken a day now to think about that, and to allow others to as well, and the more I think about it, the more I believe it to be true.

What about bad days? What about the unforeseen circumstances that can send the greatest of days into a downward spiral? What about the manipulations and intrusions of those in our lives who can't see today in the light of yesterday because yesterday they had a job, they had a friend, they had a lover, they had a husband or a wife, they had a son or daughter and today what they had is lost, or worse, and their myriad compound yesterdays will forever be better than the future they cannot see?

Good question. I'm sure I'll be working through that myself on such days. I'm sure it can be done though, as there are many ways to incite jealousy in history. My next worst day may put my last worst day to shame, raising the standard of worse days to come, making all subsequent days better by comparison, but what of that day? How will it be better than its antecedent days? It will only be better if I live better through it, and even then perhaps only in hindsight or through a perspective better then mine will be at the time, but the challenge remains.

Yesterday was beautiful, warm and sunny here in Korea. Today it's cooler, rainy and my first class has an absent kid making it a one-on-one English lesson for two hours.

However, today I'm working through an epiphany that yesterday spawned, trying to figure out how to make all my todays jealous of their tomorrows, be it through joy, heartache, gain or loss; there's a way to make it happen, to make every day better than the last: live it better.

We learn from all our yesterdays how to live today; we bring more to life with each tomorrow.
On that note, have a great day: make yesterday jealous and tomorrow better.

- Foster

I haven't forgotten!

I'm trying to post some links here of some of my Facebook Photo Albums so that those without the social networking site can see that I've been trying to keep some information coming, if not verbally, at least visually...

Spring in Seoul:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=240266&id=874015105&l=92eb6cfc58

A walk from Oksu to Itaewon
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=234799&id=874015105&l=f9aebcb8f6

Around the Block:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=228310&id=874015105&l=7fc79d9c37

Hopefully this works... if someone can let me know either way, I'd appreciate the feedback.

(I think you have to copy and paste the links into your web browser... again, any problems let me know.)

For those who wander here with time to kill:

If interested, I've begun to post my more formal writing endeavors, ranging from Op-eds, Poetry, and Fiction, to another blog devoted to that purpose: http://fosterink.blogspot.com/

Please be forewarned that while the language I use everyday I subject to strict scrutiny so as to uphold a certain self-imposed standard, I do not adhere to the same in my fiction. I justify this for character's sake and for maintaining the necessary story elements and the maturity of my craft; if PG movies offend you, don't read the Fiction posts. They're relatively tame, but you never know what will offend these days.

That said, I welcome any input and feedback from any willing readers, even if only to voice your offenses.

Cheers!

- Foster

http://fosterink.blogspot.com/

It's the little things...

I'm not a fan of shaving. Nor am I a fan of beards. So I try to stay between the two for as long as is permissible. Having gone a week before becoming duly fed up with the itchy scratchy uncomfortableness, in perhaps the only country in the world where I have more facial hair than the majority of men, including those twice my age, whereas fifteen-year-olds frequently put me to shame back home, and some of them young women, albeit none that I know, but they grow out of it, regardless, I shaved the other day, after a week of freedom, only to arrive to school to teach and have a child observe in true to form broken English, with a smile stretched ear to ear, while rubbing his own cheeks,"You, you clean your face!"

Yep. I shaved.

Wait til I get a haircut.