a moving day

Here's a brief photographic chronicle of moving day, this past Wednesday.

"Leave it the way you found it," said the landlord about my studio. So I cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more, doing my best to scrub away a year's worth of accumulated filth. I worked bit by bit over several days, not wanting to burn myself out. In the end, the landlord pronounced himself extremely pleased with the cleanup job. I had de-greased the kitchen surfaces, Windexed the glass sliding doors, cleaned out the sliding-door tracks, cleaned up all the horrifying hair and lint goblins under the bed, scrubbed the soap scum from the washing-machine door, polished the tile floor of the "veranda," and dusted all horizontal surfaces—my desk, bookshelves, dresser, fridge, microwave, cabinet tops, etc. Finally, I ran a Swiffer wet-wipe (well, several wipes) over the floor to pick up as much hair and dust as possible, then I went over the floor again with a lint roller, snatching all the clever stragglers that had managed to avoid the wipe-down. The job wasn't perfect, but it was good enough for Mr. Kim, who later on texted me that I had forgotten a drawerful of my underwear and socks. He sent those over to me via taekbae.

Here's the studio, post-cleaning:

Next, a shot of Hayang Station's train platform, with my faithful backpack, purchased in 2008, in the frame. This is Platform 2, which is where I always stand when taking the local train to the bigger station, twenty minutes away. The day was unpleasantly hot and humid. I was sweating all over—my forearms, shoulders, back, backs of my thighs, and of course my ass. Sweat leaves you feeling sticky and generally nasty, unwilling to touch anyone else. It sucks out all your dignity and makes you looked tired and stressed, even if you aren't. Your clothes develop comical blotches, which doesn't help in the dignity department. I wish I could get rid of three-quarters of my sweat glands, but I'm pretty sure that, as rotund comedian Louie Anderson once said about himself, "If I don't sweat, I'll explode."


Below, a quick shot of the interior of the local train taking me from Hayang to East Daegu Station. I had a half-hour wait at East Daegu Station for the KTX bullet train.


Next: a selfie of yours truly, loaded for bear and waiting in the heat for the KTX to arrive.


In Seoul! Finally, below, a pic of a guy at Seoul Station carting my heavy-as-hell suitcase out to the taxi stand. He charged me ten thousand won for his services. Originally, he had rushed out of nowhere with this hand truck, grabbed my suitcase, and sped off at a healthy clip after briskly asking me whether I was catching a cab. Next time around, if I see such a guy (I've never encountered these people at Seoul Station before), I'll know to say a firm "no." I have to admit, though, that his help was appreciated. My suitcase weighed about a hundred pounds.


My cousin helped me carry my suitcase up five flights of stairs, which was a relief. My new digs are a bit moldy and worn-down, a far cry from the cleanliness I had imparted on my own studio, but the floor, at least, is clean and dust-free, so it's been no problem for me to lay out several boxes' worth of taekbae'ed possessions. I'm not throwing those boxes away: I'll likely be moving again very soon.


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