Adoptivus: The Door

Our first day in Seoul was the third day of the Chuseok holiday, which meant our agency was closed. After being politely told by the helpful concierge that the mountain we had intended to hike was about 8 hours away, we hopped a subway train to the first major site we saw on our Seoul city map, Changdeokgung Palace.

I had never been to a place as different from my own culture as Korea, and the palaces were like they were plucked from my dreams of what Korea would be like. Long courtyards, open, historic, sacred, and beautifully intricate.

However, I couldn't have dreamed the vibrant colors. OH, the colors! I couldn't have imagined the way in which history and tradition could flourish amidst busy streets and towering mountains.

I took hundred of pictures. I took pictures of ceilings and trees and roofs. I took pictures of secret ponds and monkey-shaped tree roots and ancient bridges.

And a door. I took a picture of a door.

I don't recall what this door was to. I only vaguely recall where the door was located. I just remember stopping while the rest of the tour went on and snapping a picture of this door. I stood there for a minute or two, "alone," and just contemplated it. Something about it spoke to me.

Maybe it was the color. Maybe it was the rust and age. Maybe it was the history.

Maybe it was my metaphor obsession that loved the idea of this beautiful door on my first day in Seoul. This whole trip was a door I was opening....a door to a new life. We, even more than some, were going into our first meeting blind, without a real inkling of what lay in store for us.

It should be noted that I love this sort of stuff on the best of days, so in my emotionally charged state I was practically floating on symbolism and deeper meaning and significance talk. Poor, literal Appa was good sport while I wandered about musing about life in the abstract.

This picture still speaks to me, 2 years later. It is, out of hundreds, the picture I chose for the front cover of the book we had published for Little Bug commemorating our personal trip. No explanation, just that door on the front cover. I'm printing it out and framing it as a piece of art for our home, too.

To me, it was beautiful.

I also want to add that I have really enjoyed going through my travel pictures and videos and reliving moments and writing some of them down. I need to do more of this, not just for adoptivus. Eventually, and especially once we experience Seoul again for Little Bro, my memories and emotions will fade or meld. Case in point already: I can not, if my life depended on it, tell you anything about what we did past the hour of about 4 pm on this day 2 years ago. No recollection of where we ate dinner or how we past the night away. Memories gone. Wild.