I was standing in the shower today, thinking about where I am now and where I have been. It seems like my life has accelerated beyond my imagination, facing nearly two months in Korea already. But man, thinking about Peace Corps was a trip before my morning coffee and the tug of my dull Mach 3. It seems so long ago, almost like it never happened. Somewhere there are memories, sweat drenched, beer soaked, soar throat memories. Sorting memories of the classroom in San Juan, of the ball park in Dumaguete, of Bo's Coffee in Tacloban, sitting in a nipa hut with friends in Sogod missing home, eating BBQ'd bananas with my coteachers, even the chicken adobo I choked down while in the throes of typhoid. Like images in no particular order and pangs of feelings imprinted somewhere that could never be recorded though still persist. Those days in the Philippines were the best days of my life. I came to Korea, in part, looking for a fix. I can't say I found it here, though I am having a qualitatively positive experience. I could never consider it a mistake to come to Korea, but I'm afraid the feelings and general well-being of being in the PI are gone and encapsulated in a humid, pressurized kernel, a red pill swallowed long ago. Amping ka injong tanan Batch 267. Gimingaw kaajo nako ninjo adlawan.