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There's has to be some sort of stand-up joke I could write about posting a blog entry to promote a book I wrote based on a bunch of blog entries. Basically I want you to pay money to read something on a computer tablet that I wrote on a laptop available (for free) on this very blog site.

As the Author of my own misfortune becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy

When my marriage broke down, so did my mental well-being and life. It’s hard to pinpoint when it all started to fall apart. Was it before or after that prostitute that one drunken night? During the Christmas holiday I spent entertaining myself with my co-workers while She worked? Or when I got that great job only to get screwed over when I discovered they needed a temp worker, leading me along until it was too late? I insisted She have a job for her own self worth and to contribute to the family expenses. She never made enough money to contribute to anything but her own pocket, but She also worked enough so She was working when I wasn't and vice verse  When we were “together”, She was so tired from working, and on a different sleep schedule that we never spent time together anyway. We lived separate lives and both of us made barely any effort to change it until it was too late.

Already a heavy drinker, left to my own devices, I began to drink more. By the time She finally moved out, I was drunk nearly every day and soon after that, “nearly” disappeared from the phrase and just became every day.

Even now, a couple of years later, I don’t try to figure out who to blame or maybe I ignore my own faults. To say She left because I was drinking is an easy assumption to make but I think that’s a cop out. I was drinking when I met her, while I courted her, and married her for 6 years. It wasn't like I was some fabulous guy who turned into an abusive alcoholic after marriage. And I started to drink much more after She was gone, leading to my current situation. It got much worse after. It was like my best friend dying except She wasn't dead and She was no longer my friend. I was a stranger in a strange land in my own house. She abandoned me in a foreign country to fend for myself in a foreign language after depending on her for basic necessities for my entire life here. At the same time, my visa and passport both expired. My passport was easy to replace, the visa, not so much.

At the Immigration office, due to our separation and separate addresses, our 6 years of marriage was now under investigation as a fraud. It seemed pretty fucking real to me. To make things worse, She was actually in New York with her new boyfriend. While I was struggling to keep my life from falling apart, She wasn't even in the same fucking country, further eroding my credibility.

My life included our (now “my”) dog, our (my) apartment, with all our (my) furniture, including the refrigerator, washing machine, TV, bed, etc. Since, I no longer had a wife or any need to be in a foreign country in the first place anymore, I still had to deal with getting rid of it all and I needed a visa to do it. I was also technically married and couldn't get a divorce, even if I wanted to because She wasn't in the country. At one point, She had added her niece to her family registry and this unknown element came as quite a shock when asked by the reviewing immigration officer if I had a daughter with Her. It was more than a shock because it was nearly a year after she had left and therefore more than possible, however unlikely (due to a lack of a sex life before our split), that the daughter was born without my knowledge. I was greatly relieved to discover later it was her niece. At the time, my stammering reply only further destroyed any credibility I may have had left, convincing the immigration officer that my marriage really was a sham. I was told to return 6 months later.

In the meantime, as I dismantled my previous life and my current one disintegrated in a haze of cigarettes and booze, I naturally became more cynical and combative about my country of residence.

 I was bored and lonely. I couldn't stand being alone in my (our) apartment. I went to drink at bars, but not socialize—just so I wasn't sitting alone. I was hostile to any attempts by strangers to be friends. I didn't need new friends; I had Jim & Jack to keep me company, as well as few Russian girls and my usual suspects. I rejected Korean and Koreans, and when pushed, I fought back.

I would get so blindingly drunk, sometimes I never made it the couple of blocks home, opting to pass out in a doorway along the way instead. Roused by a concerned police officer, I thought I was being mugged and attacked. This got me my first fine of $4000 for preventing an officer from fulfilling their duty, or “obstruction of justice”. I didn't pay it. I had no job or money and my source of income was questionable, if nearly non-existent. I had odd jobs and sold most of my (our) belongings. Near the end, I had an empty house with just my clothes, a few pillows and blankets, my laptop, and an internet connection and that’s about it. Everything else, including the refrigerator, was gone, although I kept the vacuum and washing machine right up to the last minute.

Back at the bars, I ended up in two more incidents, resulting in two more $2000 fines for a total of $8000 of unpaid fines. On the visa front, She had returned to Korea and we finally divorced. I was scheduled to get a new visa, but now rid of all our (my) belongings, I decided I no longer needed a visa since I wasn't married and no longer had any stuff tying me to the land. I bought a ticket to Thailand instead, said my good-byes and went to the airport.

Only to be blocked at the departure gates due to my $8000 in unpaid fines. At this point, a sad, pathetic story becomes surreal and ridiculous. It becomes a Catch-22 on an epic scale.

A story of fucked if you do and fucked if you don’t... Continue to the next page>>

D-Day. The trip home...

took 30 hours.

I woke up on Monday morning, after not really sleeping at all. I was about to leave this place after 8 long months. There is no way to describe the anticipation I felt. All the other detainees in the cell were awake all night with me, eagerly anticipating it like they were the ones leaving-- living vicariously through me. The Pakistani didn't speak much English, but every hour on the hour he would proclaim "Hey Canada bro, 11 hours to go" or an hour later "Hey Canada bro, 10 hours to go"

I was told they would come to get me at 8:30. 8:30 rolled around and no one called for me. 9:00 came by, still nothing. I was literally bouncing off the bars of the holding cell. There were 2 groups. My plane didn't leave until late afternoon, so they held me back until the 2nd group. As usual, no one told me, so I sat there, my skin crawling in anxiety. Finally, I was called at 9:30, and it was a mad rush as I said my good-byes to the Indian and Pakistani and the Chinese and Vietnamese, and Thais, gathered my mattress and blankets, toothbrush and cup and books and pens and drawings.

With the rest of the group of un-detained, we gave up our mattresses, threw our blankets on a pile of laundry, and trashed the toothbrush and cup. We were led to the room that processed us into the detention center and were processed out. Won was changed into US$, cloths and bags were collected; I changed out of a prison uniform for the second time in 8 months. For the last time. I argued with the guards about what I was allowed to take on the plane and what was restricted. I yelled at them "When was the last time you were on a plane? What the fuck do you know? I came to this country carrying this stuff, now I'm leaving your fucking country with the same stuff. I'm not throwing out my paint or brushes, jackass." I yelled and screamed and made a fuss. They relented. I got on the plane with everything.

After we were processed, we were led to a bus and an hour long trip to the airport... in handcuffs. I was in a bus like you see in the movies, locked in a cage, why do I need cuffs? If some drug lord going to bust us out? We were taken to the back entrance of the airport to a special security area, where they did everything short of sticking a finger up my ass. Again, where exactly am I going to get the drugs or bombs to smuggle? Please tell me exactly how you expect me to hijack your plane...

Finally, I was led to a holding room for the next few hours while I waited for my flight. I had all my carry-on luggage with me, including my computer. Here, I surfed the net for the first time in 8 months. I checked my 300 + emails, and Facebook. I started writing this blog. I was still the only white person there.

5 minutes before my flight was scheduled to depart. They finally came to get me. Once again, I was nearly crawling out of my skin in anxiety. My fight was supposed to leave in 5 minutes. No one had the decency to tell me it had been delayed by 1/2 an hour.

They led me through the airport in handcuffs. When we got to the gate, the cuffs were finally removed, before all the other passengers had seen me. I was actually one of the first people on the plane. Preferred seating and boarding. While we were waiting to board the other passengers, I asked the flight attendant if I could get my passport. To say she was shocked to learn I was a "criminal", is an understatement. When she recovered, she assured me that yes, indeed, we were now officially on Canadian soil at Incheon Airport, and a couple minutes later, another flight attendant came by and handed me my passport. I was going home.

I was seated beside a woman who was subjected to my story for the next 12 hours. I hadn't talked to a "normal" human being in 8 months. This was the first woman, too. She was flabbergasted.

13 hours later, I was in Vancouver. My daughter skipped school to meet me. It was awkward. I hadn't seen her in 3 years. She had grown from a kid to a young woman. I didn't know how to talk to people after so much time amongst men or in solitary confinement... or talk to women... or even my daughter, who was both, a double whammy. She had a job (!?), she bought me lunch, and we went window shopping in the shops at Vancouver International. I marveled at all the books in English... and the prices I couldn't afford.

The parting was such sweet sorrow and bitter sweet. I'm a shitty father. Too late to dwell on that now. I've dwelled on it for 8 months, if not longer. Another, more private story I won't write about here...

The next plane was almost an hour late leaving. I got a seat beside another woman. I talked her ear off for the next 6 hours. We both started movies, but never watched them. Talk was much more exciting.

As we were approaching Toronto, I noticed that we seemed to be going in circles over Windsor, 200 Km south. Strange. An hour later, the pilot comes on the PA and told us we couldn't land in Toronto due to thunderstorms. We were also running out of fuel. It was 11pm local time. I'd been up since 8 am the day before but it was only 15 hours later in "real" time since I was time travelling backwards. In my real time it had been more than 28 hours.

We landed in Windsor, 2 hours behind schedule, and out of gas. The airport didn't have the facilities to refuel our jet. They mickey-moused a solution and we had enough gas to get to Toronto, but... the control tower had gone home for the day...

The pilots got on their cell phones and had to call Chicago to file a flight plan so they could take off again. A couple of passengers were actually headed to Windsor, but couldn't disembark because the airport didn't have the proper equipment. They had to fly all the way to Toronto, and catch another flight back to Windsor, but because of the delays, they missed the connecting flight... and I thought my life was rough. At least they didn't spend 8 months in a 1 x 2 cell in a foreign country. They got a comfy hotel room instead.

Finally, we took off again. The passenger next to me was nice enough to lend me her Blackberry so I could call my mom, waiting for me for the last 2 hours at Pearson International.

Almost 262 days + 30-odd hours late, I had finally arrived. I saw a lot of white people.

(Day 261) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 11 (Part 2) D-1

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread 2 eggs soy milk
Lunch	rice & kimchi potato soup cabbage salad
Dinner	rice & kimchi mandu chicken soup

The day is just dragging by and as luck would have it, the asshole guard from a couple nights ago are back. This time, on the day shift, with the same power trip over the TV volume control. Now that the two other guards are back from their smoke/coffee/spank break, the asshole is gone, the volume raised and the guards have exchanged their dicks for their phones-- paying no mind to the rest of us.

It’s a typical Sunday in detention and I only have to suffer through another 24 hours, after 8 months, until freedom in my own country.

During the last roll call, the asshole guard tries to assert his authority and tells everybody to be quiet, but we just laugh and mock him as soon as his back is turned. He returns, all full of bluster and we all laugh harder. 

There are 90 people behind bars and a heavy hand is useless against people with nothing to lose. We've already lost the most important thing-- our freedom and for refugees and migrant workers that's all they have.

(Day 260) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 10 (Part 2) D-2

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread 2 eggs banana soy milk
Lunch	rice & kimchi soybean & spinach soup tater tots
Dinner	rice & kimchi spinach kimchi/tofu/egg soup

One of the most interesting things about the immigration detention center is the diversity of people and religions and how this small group reflects the real world in the eastern hemisphere. Out of 17 people in this cell, half of them are Chinese and there is 1 person each representing other countries, with 4 coming from the Indian subcontinent. I'm the token imperialist. Three of the four Indians are Muslims, the other is Hindi, but it’s not the one you'd expect it to be-- the one from India, but is instead the one from Nepal. Another strange twist is the one most likely to be Muslim, the Iranian is a Christian, as is the Nigerian, but the Iranian is more devote. The Chinese are all communist heathens and mock the Muslims as they perform their daily prayers. And then there's me. I am actually more anti-religion than anything else, but if I were to choose, I would choose a Buddhist-like philosophy.

I spent most of the day trying to sleep in an effort to make it pass by faster. No such luck. Time is still crawling by at a snail's pace. Maybe a bit slower than that.

(Day 259) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 9 (Part 2) D-3

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	sponge cake with cream filling 2 eggs soy milk
Lunch	rice & kimchi chicken soup salad with gelatin/tofu
Dinner	rice & kimchi fish soup radish & apple salad

Last night I swallowed my pride and ask my mom to get me the hell out of here and when I woke up this morning I was handed a ticket home. My nightmare is over in three days. I have a 3 hour layover in Vancouver, so I'll be able to see my daughter on Monday morning PST. I'm a bit little overwhelmed with the knowledge that I'm finally leaving Korea after nine years and eight days.

The asshole guards from a couple nights ago are back. This time, he not only complaint about the TV volume being too loud, but he came in turned it down and took away the remote so we can no longer change the channel. Talk about an abuse of power. Total asshole. If he hates his job so much, why even bother coming to work? I told him he had a small penis, but his English is too poor to understand, which is just as well or I would be spending my weekend in solitary confinement.

Going into the weekend, the current population is 17. There is 1 Canadian, Iranian, Indian, Nepalese, Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Nigerian, 2 Thai and 8 Chinese.

(Day 258) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 8 (Part 2) D-?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread 2 eggs soy milk
Lunch	rice & kimchi kimchi soup Korean style pancake
Dinner	rice & kimchi slimy seaweed salad seafood stew

Officials (and by official, I mean a Korean national employed by the Canadian embassy) are supposed to visit today. They were supposed to visit yesterday, but never showed up and I actually requested to see them over a week ago. I don't need them now, so I hardly see the point. It's just a waste of time now. Unless they're bringing me books, a plane ticket or an escort to the airport, their presence is completely fucking useless. Their only function is to insure the Korean government doesn't completely abuse our human rights... Oh yeah-- and trade.

 Their real job is to sell Canadian goods overseas. Protecting citizens is a side gig to fill in the time, when they find the time-- like in my case, over a week later-- when all the wounds have healed and bruises faded. The documents shredded and discarded. I'm being unfair, I know. The Canadian embassy officials can only do so much in a foreign country with foreign laws and even then, so much isn't much at all.

It’s like talking to a shrink. They nod their heads and take notes and make suggestions, but all the logic and debate in the world can't change things. All they can do is research cheap flights, which anybody can do, and bring me magazines, which anyone can do. They take my abuse complaint seriously, but what does that really accomplished? It’s my word against theirs (the Korean immigration officers) and I resisted arrest. The embassy can complain and the Koreans will say sorry, but nothing really happens. There is no change whatsoever. The Korean immigration officers are still going to be racist pigs doing whatever they want and will never be held accountable. They are just a bunch of armed thugs backed by a corrupt government and the government is whoever is holding the gun.

(Day 257) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 7 (Part 2) D-?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread with red bean filling 2 eggs orange soy drink
Lunch	rice & kimchi bean sprouts in hot water fish
Dinner	rice & kimchi chicken & potato soybean soup & tofu

They installed brand new 42 inch LED flat screen TVs in every cell today. Complete with wall mount and steel enclosed cage. The whole setup probably cost about a thousand dollars each. In 5 cells, just in my block that's $5000. They could have sent five or more people back to their countries, but keeping us docile and compliant is more important than repatriating us.

The embassy was supposed to visit today. They never showed up. I requested to see them a week ago when I was released. Now my wounds and bruises have all healed. There really isn't much point.

 JU however, visited me and brought two more books, which is very fortunate since I just finished the last book I had yesterday.

The night shift guards are real assholes. One of them is the guard I had so many problems with so many months ago. Everybody here knows what jerks they are and laughs at them. During roll call, a detainee farted loudly right after one of the guards told us to be quiet and of course, the whole cell block heard and started laughing, which made the guard even angrier and the detainees laughed harder. When you're an asshole and no one respects you, your authority is undermined and useless... A lesson I should note and learn.

(Day 256) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 6 (Part 2) D-?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread 2 eggs soy milk
Lunch	rice & kimchi chicken soup fruit salad in French dressing
Dinner	rice & kimchi watery soup fish

If I had my computer available, I'd be able to work and make money-- even behind bars. I've been asked to make a logo for a restaurant and a business card, as well as draw the usual number of portraits. If any of these people actually had any money I could probably even afford a plane ticket home.

I'm still here, but in the last two days, half a dozen people have come and gone. In a couple of cases, they arrived yesterday and left this morning. The 17 people we had over the weekend has now been reduced by 1 but the ethnic makeup is a bit different. More than half of the men in this particular cell are Chinese. Out of the 80 people in this whole cell block, 35 are Chinese spread amongst 5 cells. They are constantly fighting and being shuffled around to different cells in an effort to stem the conflict between detainees. For the most part, the Chinese fight with other Chinese.

(Day 255) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 5 (Part 2) D-?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread 2 eggs soy drink
Lunch	rice & kimchi egg drop soup apple salad
Dinner	rice & kimchi slimy seaweed soup fish

9 years ago this very day I arrived in Korea. What a long strange trip it's been. Officially, I didn't get my first visa until May 27th 2004, but this is the day I arrived. And I can't wait to leave.

I called Z and help her with her homework. It’s not a usual occurrence, so it is pretty cool. She had to write an essay about the media and I was able to help her organize her thesis and topics.

I also provided P with necessary personal info to get me the fuck outta Dodge, so hopefully I'll be leaving any matter of days, but that’s bloody unlikely.

(Day 254) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 4 (Part 2) D-?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread 2 eggs soy milk
Lunch	rice & kimchi chicken soup seafood salad
Dinner	rice & kimchi potato soup spicy squid

If it isn't the constant storing of toads all night, it's the army of ants trampling in and out of the bathroom for a couple of hours this morning. The wakeup time isn't actually in till 7 am, but beginning around 6, the same people sleeping soundly and snoring get up and decide to do their business while the rest of us are still trying to sleep. Its times like this (and only times like this) I wish I spoke Korean as this is the only common language everybody here shares, so I could express my displeasure in a way other than seeming like a raving lunatic. Courtesy is not a part of the Asian lexicon-- unless it’s hierarchical. The detention center is better than jail in some ways but those same reasons make it worse to. Having to deal with the rude inconsiderate people (myself included) is frustrating, but being able to socialize is nice too. The worst thing is the unknown. In jail I knew what day I was leaving, but here I don't have a clue how long I will be stuck here.

(Day 253) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 3 (Part 2) D-?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread 2 eggs soy milk
Lunch	rice & kimchi chicken soup salad with gelatin
Dinner	rice & kimchi slimy seaweed soup fish

I think I got about 3 hours of sleep last night due to the symphony of frogs. It was a constant drone all night but much too loud to be ignored or embraced as a lullaby.

One of the Chinese asked if the hair on my chest was artificial. I had to laugh. Did he think I glued it on my chest?

(Day 252) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 2 (Part 2) D-?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread 2 eggs orange soy drink
Lunch	rice & kimchi slimy seaweed soup fish
Dinner	N/A

It’s Friday. Going into the weekend at ye olde detention center. As of this morning, the current cell population is 12, with one leaving. A born again Christian Iranian, a Muslim Indian mute Bangladeshi, a Mongolian, a couple of Vietnamese, Chinese and Chinese Koreans. By the end of the day, the population has increased by two-- a Pakistani and a Nigerian. It’s like a mini UN. I am still the only white person. I feel very under-represented. One last guy from Thailand arrived before the day was through.

I should have known or at least expected the incompetence of the kitchen staff to understand a simple request. I don't like rice so I asked that the rice be replaced with bread. Just the rice... nothing else, and of course I got half a loaf of bread, cabbage with French dressing and two fried eggs, because it's a set menu and the staff are too stupid to make anything but a set menu. They can substitute chicken for pork for the Muslims, but they are incapable of substituting bread for rice. In addition, it turns out they cooked the chicken and pork together and then just separated the two to serve it, so the Muslims couldn't actually eat the chicken because it was cooked in pork fat. And they are as stubborn to fulfill our requests as we are to refuse to eat the food they serve. I'm sure if the UN and Human Rights Commission weren't breathing down their necks, they wouldn't even offer the option of chicken. There’s this square box and any variation is impossible-- like the law of gravity.

To the room guard’s credit, one of them talked to me later (he actually called me Mr Tees. Since the family name comes first in Asian names, Koreans usually assume David is my family name) and explained that he tried to talk to the kitchen staff and it is the chef that refuses to budge on the whole side dish substitution. The room guard understood my concerns, but it’s not his call. At least he tried and explained later. It is a case of “this is the way it is no matter how inane it may seem and too bad.” I appreciate the effort.

Maybe it’s the cultural difference. It seems to me that people here just accept things without question and assume it can't be changed, whereas I feel everything can be changed if you question it. I also have an almost unhealthy distaste for legitimate authority. It's the social commie Canadian in me. I would say I’m an anarchist if it wasn't such a corrupted word hijacked by a bunch of dirty hippies.

(Day 251) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center Day 1 (Part 2) D-?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
100	100	100

Breakfast	bread with brown sugar 2 eggs soy milk
Lunch	rice & kimchi kimchi soup Korean style pancake
Dinner	rice & kimchi slimy seaweed salad seafood stew soy milk

There’s now a different menu every day at Hwaseong, but it's essentially the same-- rice kimchi and watery soup.

One of the Vietnamese went home this morning. One of these days that person will be me. Hopefully sooner, rather than later. I was able to talk to my mom and tell her about my little adventure with my documents being shredded and physically abused. Of course, she is incensed and currently writing an email to the Department of Foreign Affairs in Canada. I also left a message with the Canadian embassy. Later, I talked to Z again. Talking to her has changed over the years. We used to talk about things like school and home, but now we talk about such things as politics, society or religion... actual interesting subjects. She's turned into a little adult. It’s cool. Now I can truly corrupt my offspring.

The non-Christian Christian is still here. It's been 18 months for him. I've had a hard time dealing with 8 months. I can't even comprehend 10 more months of this shit. It's no wonder he's angry and intolerant of the other detainees. I don't blame him. I've been thinking about how well I'd be able to readjust to society when I go back to Canada. There is reverse culture shock to deal with as well.

I had a meeting with my caseworker today. It was basically a repeat of “I don't have any money and I can't get any money from the Canadian embassy, my family or friends, so if I'm going to be deported, the Korean government is going to have to pay for it.” Making me pay for my crimes has ended up costing the Korean government a lot of money to feed and house me for 8 months and deport me. I also talked to my embassy eventually. They can't do much other than listen; maybe complain on my behalf over my treatment. They also told me to have a good weekend since it is Easter in Canada and although they are in Korea, the embassy workers follow Canadian holidays and won't be back until Tuesday. Lazy buggers. The civil service gets paid too much for what they actually do. They justify it by making the laws that administer everything. The children are running the candy store.

I'm finding it impossible to sleep. I just spent 5 months in a small room by myself. It was lonely, but it was very quiet. Now I am in a large room with 12 men. All of them snoring a different volumes and frequencies. It’s loud and distracting. It's like being in a swamp with a symphony of frogs.

Day 250 D-Day?

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
~150	100	100
Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner = ?

This is it. The day of reckoning. By this evening I'll either be on a plane out of Korea or stuck in red tape for an undetermined amount of time. Let's hope it's the former, although it will probably be the latter.

That worked out like I expected-- actually a little worse. I got to all my stuff and repacked it in anticipation-- just in case, but there was no need. The immigration officer didn't speak English. He gave me a piece of paper with my rights, so I requested a lawyer as was my right and he refused. I asked to talk to my embassy. That was refused. He demanded I sign the documents but I couldn't read it and he couldn't explain it so I refused. I showed him my documents from immigration, a receipt for my visa and he tore it up. I freaked out. He just destroyed all the proof I had of my legitimacy. I refused to sign.

Five big guys showed up, handcuffed me and manhandle me into a van. The handcuffs were really tight. I definitely have bruises from that, maybe even some nerve damage. One guy felt like he was going to break my ribs as he sat on me. We drove to Mok-dong and they threw me into another cell, but didn't remove the cuffs. The pain was unbearable. When it was lunch time, they finally remove the cuffs so I could eat. Then they gave me an inmate uniform and finally, my books so I could write this. Now we're going back Hwaseong. I fucking hate that place.

Now I'm back at Hwaseong. I don't know how long I'll be here. I was able to talk to Z, but it’s too late to call my mother. Current population—13, I think. 1 guy each from India, Bangladesh, and Iran and the rest are Vietnamese or Chinese.

The food is shittier, but it's much nicer to be able to speak English to many people. I feel almost human again. Rwanda is still here, which explains why JO never got his books back. My voice is almost horse from talking so much. My daily entries should become a lot more interesting, now that I have other people to write about.
The Iranian is a political refugee because he's Christian. The UN people told him to go to immigration to get a visa and instead, they arrested him. He's been here 5 months trying to work his way through the refugee system, which is next to impossible here in Korea. Rwanda was supposed to be released in November and he still here because of the bureaucracy.

I was able to talk to T. He told me about another friend, a good musician and performance artist, who totally got screwed by the school hakwon system. No pension, no return airfare. Korea just made another friend. For every good story I hear about Korea, I could tell you two or more bad stories.

My guilty, white man, imperialist, colonialist complex makes me hate myself for talking badly about anyone because of race, but I have very few nice things to say about Korea and Koreans. The good things I have are all superficial things about the technology, temples or the beautiful women. Anything I have about people, society or culture is mostly bad. I wish I didn't feel that way, but my experiences keep reinforcing it.

(Day 249) Seoul Nambu Correctional Facility-day 154 D-2

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
~150	100	100
Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner = March 5

This is it. The last day. Tomorrow, I will finally leave this place. Whether or not I'll actually be free, is yet to be seen. I won't truly be free until I'm sitting on an airplane, and I'm far from there yet. I won't be in jail anymore-- that's the main thing, but I'll be able to use the telephone and I will be at least one more step closer to real freedom than the 23 hour lockdown in solitary confinement I am currently enjoying.

I gave my playing cards that I made and all my extra pens to Mr Kim today. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to make the hand off tomorrow. I kept a pen, the highlighters and pencil so I could continue this diary and draw, if the desire strikes. I also kept the black markers in case my next destination is immigration and they confiscate my pen and pencil due to the metal content.

I've also kept the newspapers from the last few days. The detainees might appreciate some recent news. I've packed the books just in case, but if I go to the airport, I'll have to abandon them which I loathe to do. I'm not traveling around with 30 books or paying for overweight luggage. It’s so tempting to pay the $50 just to leave today. I'm so broke though, $50 could be the difference between being able to afford a plane ticket to Bangkok or being stuck here.

So, what have I learned after 250 days of incarceration? I'm a selfish narcissist, but I knew that already. Whoever holds the keys, makes the rules and no matter what is written or considered law, the only thing that matters is who holds the keys. It isn't about willing to do the time if you commit the crime, it's about how much money you have to pay everybody off. Just ask the new president of Kenya or all of my fellow inmates jailed for corruption-- and there are a lot of them in Korea. Just last week, the head of the Environmental Protection Agency joined our merry band of criminals and it won't be long before the Vice Minister of Justice himself is added to our ranks.

I had one last meeting with the warden after lunch. I explained my fear about being sent back to immigration jail upon my release tomorrow. I explained how it would be in everybody's best interest to drive me to the airport let me buy a ticket and leave Korea tomorrow night. He said he understood my predicament and he would make a plea to the immigration officials sent to collect me on my behalf. I will be released at about 9 am. I also got a receipt of all my expenses during my stay here and I have $100 more than I thought which is totally awesome. I'm still broke but not as broke as I thought. If I make it to Thailand I'll even have a couple hundred dollars to get me going. Finally I donated all the books I had to the prison. The warden said he wanted to read them and that he could lend them to other prisoners.

For my last night in jail the Korean national soccer team has decided to play a World Cup qualifying match against Qatar live from 8 pm to 10 pm. We got to stay up late and be entertained with something worthy of my attention. Go Qatar!

I notice in the paper today at a presidential nominee for the Fair Trade Commission has withdrawn due to a tax evasion investigation. There has to be a certain irony in that. So far 12 candidates have withdrawn or been eliminated due to corruption or questions about ethics. Yet, I'm the one in jail because I'm too poor to pay off the right people.

The game went into overtime but the prison broadcast station killed the broadcast exactly at 10 pm. This is the difference in cultures. In the West, this would have caused a riot. In Korea there were a few indignant cries, but it was pretty quiet. In the end, no one knows who won-- it was a tie when the broadcast was cut off.

(Day 248) Seoul Nambu Correctional Facility-day 153 D-3

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
~150	100	100
Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner = March 4

I've been sitting cross-legged on a hard linoleum floor for so long, my ankles have developed calluses. I have one on the side of my foot, too. Scarred for life.

Unless I'm still here for lunch on Wednesday, this is the last time I have to eat that slimy seaweed soup. I never really had to eat it, but I've been given very little choice. If I don't eat it then I go hungry. They barely give me enough to eat as it is. How else would I lose six kilograms? All I do is sit cross-legged in a cell. My exercises don't take long and are hardly strenuous enough to warrant such weight loss. I even started eating rice when the new workers started a week and a half ago and I'm still hungry after every meal. So, the slimy seaweed soup gets eaten, even though it’s gross.

Trying to sleep through the night has become a Herculean task due to the anticipation of my release in two more sleeps. It's worse than waiting for Christmas as a child.

(Day 247) Seoul Nambu Correctional Facility-day 152 D-4

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
~150	100	100
Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner = March 3

I can spend my last Sunday avoiding all the terrible TV by reading yesterday's paper and the stack of books I have. Almost bliss. 3 more sleeps till freedom. It seems hard to believe.

It only took 33 episodes of a drama about rural life in a Korean small town (where, in reality, 1 in 4 wives are of foreign, Southeast Asian descent) to actually show foreigners as a part of the plot. None of them are major characters though. With a cast of at least 10 women, two or three should be non-Koreans.

I got a hole in my only pair of socks. I only have to wear them for another two days. I had two other pairs of socks, but they also developed holes last week and I threw them out after I had a shower, rather than wash them and keep them for one more week. I have a fresh, brand new, never-been-worn pair of socks, but I was saving them for Wednesday when I'm released. Fresh socks, underwear and undershirt-- new beginning.

(Day 246) Seoul Nambu Correctional Facility-day 151 D-5

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
~150	100	100
Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner = March 2

My last weekend and a good thing too, because I've almost run out of soap, toothpaste, shampoo and the batteries died on my electric razor. If I stayed any longer, I'd have to replenish everything with all the money I don't have... As it stands I can go without shaving for 4 days and the soap, toothbrush and shampoo will last until then-- but just barely.

The highlighter pens I used to color code everything have also started to die out on me. Again, they only have to last for more days, although they are so dry now even that seems unlikely.

Today is Billie Jean Day on TV. I've seen Koreans singing and dancing on TV to Billie Jean at least 3 times on 3 different programs. Those Koreans, they really love them some MJ. I wonder if they know what drug-addicted pedophile means? I don't care how good his music is, I never liked MJ much-- even though he was the first concert I ever went to, thanks to some hard work on my mother’s part by standing in line for tickets in the days before the internet. There's a certain irony that two out of the three performances I saw today were done by children under 10 years old.

On my last Saturday, the movie is in Korean. Thanks to JO, I have plenty of books to keep me entertained. No harm, no foul.

(Day 245) Seoul Nambu Correctional Facility-day 150 D-6

sit-ups	push-ups	chair-lifts
~120	100	100
Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner = March 1

It’s Friday. Going into the weekend for the last time in this place. Current cell population-- 1 Canadian. It makes for some pretty boring days. The Canadian isn't much of a conversationalist. He's argumentative and always thinks he's right. He usually is, which makes him all the more annoying. Thankfully, most of the time, he keeps to himself by drawing, writing or reading.

The New York Times finally fixed the comics, but I missed 3 days of continuity. There's a notice that if I want to receive the missing days’ comics, I can email them. A fat lot of good that does me. If I had a fucking computer, I wouldn't be reading my news in the newspaper or writing this journal with a pen in a paper notebook.

I forgot that JO brought me even more books. I have 5 days left and six books to read. Even I can't read that fast, but at least I won't be bored for the next 5 days and if I get sent back to immigration jail, I'll have lots to read there, too.

I also got one last letter from my mother. Instead of writing her back I can just call her next week.

I read two of the books this evening. They were short.