Sunday, 8 June 1997
Okay, I’m going to read this entry later on and think: “Shit, so that’s how I felt back then!”
I hate Korea. I fucking hate it here. I can’t take it anymore. I’m lonely, cut off from my family, and cut off from my language and my culture. I’m basically just hanging on.
I sometimes feel like a prisoner. People talk to me in public and I feel like I’m obliged to be polite. I can’t just tell them to move on, I’m not in the mood to chat.
Can you believe that months ago, say February/March, I was so positive at times? Here I am on the fucking eve of the second week of JUNE, four and a half weeks before I go home, and I feel like I’m going to shit in my pants from just enough!
Okay, it’s Sunday. I’ve … survived three days in my own company. What do I expect? To feel good?
I’ll feel better at the end of this week. This week I’ll sort out my work permit, and by the end of the week, it will only be three and a half weeks before I go home …
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