Unexpected Adventures

I still remember that day (but God knows I'll never be able to recall the date).

When I was visiting my extended family in Seoul, Korea, I ventured out for a walk after a heated, youthful argument with my sister. If there is one thing people should learn and grow to learn about me is that I have a flawed sense of direction.

Wandering alone, trusting that I had memorized the path my uncle and I took to walk my grandmother's dog, I found myself lost in one of Korea's many mountains. Now, if anybody has ever been to Korea, they will know that every neighborhood has a mountain, and that there is nothing absurd about that (Although I suppose getting lost might be).

A key thing to note here is that although I had my phone with me (duh, how else would I have taken the photo), I did not have a Korean cellphone number, nor internet connection. If there was one thing that was comforting me, it was the fact that the sun was still high up in the sky. 

So there I was, walking around the mountain, still fuming about how unfair life was, and how I suck at directions, and how I wanted to go home so I could gorge myself with grandma's home-cooked stew and roasted sweet potatoes. Lo and behold, these feelings did not last long. Every thought in my head dissipated the moment I set my eyes on these steps before me. I had no idea (and still don't) why these stairs captivated me in that moment, but they did. A poem popped into mind that day-- Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. It didn't really fit into the typical imagery the poem stimulates which involves a crossroad, but somehow, this was the only thought that seemed to be relevant at that moment.

Naturally, me being me, I forgot about my predicament as a lost child and followed the steps up. It wasn't a long flight of stairs, but it was a winding one. It felt beautiful, and I was in a trance. Nature began closing up behind me, and I found myself completely surrounded by trees and shrubbery. In this moment, I had taken the path less traveled on-- not by others, but by myself. I know this might not make sense to everybody, but to me, this moment was a moment of growth.

I live for moments like this.
Moments of silent but profound revelations that I know will forever change my perspective on life, and my character.








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Ps.

I did manage to find my way back home. Apparently, my family hadn't noticed my long absence, and I abstained from telling them about my unexpected adventure as a woodland nymph who lives off of pizza and ice cream.