My feeling that the grass is always greener has followed me to Asia.


The brightly colored roses that poke out from the round bushes situated in front of my apartment cry out for an accompaniment of faint samba music drifting through the neighborhood, played by some dreamy couple who have just gotten home from a long day of work to kick off their shoes and dance with one another. Local children yell 'hi' to me from balconies as I pass, same as every day but somehow- today- furthering my daydream that Bupyeong has transformed into a little seaside city of Argentina or Chile.

My skirt swishes in the late afternoon breeze, and the sun blurs the faces of everyone I pass in the narrow streets until they are most certainly mestizo. Small trucks honk their horns as they dart through, and a woman stoops, child in hand, to throw birdseed for the gathering pigeons. The faint smell of sea salt arrests my senses all at once, and I enter my apartment ready for anything. I'll grab my bathing suit and my dancing shoes- just take me to South America.