I'm helping out with the student production of Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice. The play is going to take place on a beautiful lake in Worcester College in early June. I am in charge of making the 'behind the scenes production diaries, short videos released every week to stir up some pre-performance excitement. 

Yesterday, we shot the trailer for the play. Actors dressed up in colorful Tudor costumes to reenact one of scenes of the actual play. Although it was physically exhausting (shooting from 7AM to 5PM non-stop) I felt energized and strangely at home. Nick Lory, our DOP did an amazing job capturing and blending in the gorgeous scenery with the ambience of the Venice. 

It's a lovely feeling, to be part of something bigger, something that matters to a lot of people, something that makes them happy. I'm very fortunate to work alongside passionate students who care and give the play their all; Oxford will become more dear to me because of this experience. 

As you can imagine, Oxford goes big on balls. Formal balls aren't my cup of tea, but I decided to go to one because I thought it would add flavor to the life-in-Oxford chapter of life. Yesterday was the 'Exeter College: The Orient Express Ball' which my friends and I attended. Typical of me to leave things up till the last moment; I spent yesterday afternoon fishing the shops in city center for a dress and a pair of decent heels. It was a highly stressful and intellectually stimulating task. 

Dress codes are a matter of life and death here in Oxford, a trait I deem properly English.  (For more info, please have a look at Downton Abbey) Last night's code was 'black tie,' which in itself is lucidly straightforward for the lads but perplexing for the girls. Rumor had it that girls would be expected to wear floor-length gowns or cocktail dresses at the least; dresses that went over the knees would be frowned upon; no flat shoes; etc. I pondered for a good while whether I should buy a long gown I would never again wear in my life. But no, I ended up purchasing a casual dress I would make practical use of.
Clever me : )

M, Lotti, Plebwood, Moi, P, Bartini, JMS, Smithers, Spicy

There are so many things in life one does for the sake of being able to say one has done it. Much of Oxford is like that: the Oxonian experience. And it sells so well. Many international students brave the dreary weather and unhealthy food of the UK for this precise experience: studying in the oldest university in the English-speaking world, living in pleasantly antiquated housings, dining in formal hall and high table, wearing sub fusc on matriculation and exam days, and all the items on the true Oxonian/English life track list. Charming, indeed, but what about inefficiency, elitism, and backwardness? Because these words are the negative flip sides of propriety, privilege, and tradition. 

Oxford was ranked no 5 in World's Best Universities with its rival and counterpart Cambridge at no 2. These days I often wonder what is at the core of the Oxbridge magic, what makes the spell so enticing. Being an Oxford-phile myself, I am in no position to assess this matter with an objective eye but one cannot help but ask: if all the buildings in Oxford were burnt down, would the university still hold the same academic prestige? 

I say no. And oh yes, the ball was fun. 

Beautiful day in Oxford! I am tempted say that spring has finally dawned, but will not risk jinxing tomorrow's weather as the weather in the UK is as fickle as it gets. Someone once told me that the word 'climate' does not exist here; only day-to-day or hour-to-hour 'weather.' I wholly concur. 

I took advantage of the pretty day and went for a jog in the University Parks. I passed excited dogs, little children on tricycles, sunbathing ducks, grass-grazing horses, blooming irises, and lovers strolling hand in hand. It's amazing what a little bit of sunshine and green can do for your mood. 

My mood. Ever since you have gone, I am suffering from homesickness. Which is a rather interesting statement, because it's not necessarily home that I miss. Naturally I do miss the vibe of Seoul, the horribly packed and overly energetic bustle of the city. But there are also parts of Seoul I would wish to avoid, such as the obnoxious drunk men on the streets or the rude and hurried pedestrians. And yes, I do miss the provocative food but that is available in London as well. There are plenty of Koreans here in Oxford for me to converse with, if it is the language that I miss. But not so much. Then what is it that I miss? 

I'm inclined to say it's the easiness with which I can access everything that is familiar to me.  Even if we don't see one another for weeks, there is a certain sense of comfort knowing that we reside under the same city-roof. I may not want to eat dduk-bok-gee every single night but know that should I crave it, I could run outside in my pajamas and ask for 2000 won of it and wheedle an extra half-egg off the ajooma. I don't think it's even Koreanness that I am homesick for, but rather nostalgia for the accessibility and familiarity of all that is dear. 

Lines are fascinating creatures of space because they determine

in and out    /    top and bottom    /    left, center, right

also the boundaries between:

me and you    /   you and another    /   another and the other    /    the other and others

they viciously and maliciously:

cut          divide         limit           exclude 

but we dare not bear grudge,  for they work so industriously to keep us connected from:

Oxford-------------------------to New York.