24

I arrived in Korea last year five days before my 23rd birthday. I managed to make some friends and when the day arrived, I found myself at dinner reserved and even a little forgetful. I didn't want to burden the rest of my party with a feeling of requirement to celebrate, so I treated myself to an overpriced drink and thought, hell, it's my birthday and I'm happy.

Last year I had to sneak my birthday into conversation. This year I tried to squander all information about it's existence. My birthday hit after an eight week stretch of summer-fun weekends.

I wanted a small gathering. I wanted to sit in the park. I wanted pesto. I wanted a waterfall.

I wanted yoga and hot tea. I wanted SLEEP.

I tiptoed on the slippery rocks until I could position most of my body under the intensity of this fall in Gurye. I lost my breath, my body shocked and recovering from the water's chilly temperature. I've learned to love cold water - it's a sure reminder that you're alive.

So now I'm 24. Cool.

(But ask any Korean, and I'm still 25.)