I told a story to the graduating twelfth grade class at an international school in Qingdao.  It was about my very first day in Asia.  It was the center of Cheongju, South Korea, (shinae).  I told them of my feelings of seeing all the people bustling through the streets and the colorful store fronts all written in Korean.  The people were friendly but there seemed to be no pattern to their walking.  People seemed to be everywhere; cars too.  Motorcycles would buzz by me on the sidewalk.  I was...
Continue reading ...