varying degrees of light

We got off the train and stepped on to Seoul's wet floor. There had been worry and warning about some serious flooding, overtaking bridges and closing main roads, upon our departure from Busan and it had ended up with that smell of the city after a muchly-needed rain and a sad stack of sand bags guarding the door of the market. Adam and I wearily, and happily, trudged through the buzzing lights and I picked up some gifts for the matriarchs of our family tree.
We are here, as the rest of the nation is, to take the week--or the middle three days of the week--off and visit with family. I thought of my parents as we acted out the ritual of the nation, and how they would have been doing what we were doing had they not moved to the States at our age to pursue studies and start a family. I am their son here. I can't say that I am back, as I am a stranger in this land and to these people. The nurse checking my blood pressure, the lady selling us dumplings, the cabdriver taking us downtown, they all assure and scold me in the same way. You should speak Korean because you are Korean. And I hold back my inclination to correct them: No. I'm American.
But here I am on a journey, or family pilgrimmage, to present myself to my family. I am their son. This is who I am. This is my friend. We are your family.
In preparation for the week of visiting, and out of necessity and convenience, we are spending the night at a jimjilbang, or spa. This building is 6 floors high and occupied, from the bottom up, as spa, bath, and lockers; lounge and meeting room; cafe, pc room (my current location), and gym; and sleeping rooms. The guests are given a set of shorts and t shirts to change into, and lockers in which to store shoes and clothes. The men and women have separate facilities for the baths and lockers only, and the night occupants sleep on floor mats. I like the idea of thoroughly cleansing one self through the night, even though the cafe sells grossly unhealthy food and there are two dudes behind me playing Starcraft. Our stay here is a fitting start to our journey, taking part in this ritual.
And now, dear friends and readers, know that I am thankful for you and wish that we could collectively take work off and visit together. But we can't. 'Cause ya'll live elsewhere. So have fun at work/school, and know that you are missed.