"Korean men are like Filipino men. They're conservative about dating. When you date one they expect you to date him and no one else. They're not aggressive like Americans are--I know you don't like . . . you didn't like how forward they were with you. Start dating again. We're not talking about marriage here."

I've dined with friends and coworkers since announcing my relocation overseas, and the idea of dating a native is on everyone's lips. "You're going to get yourself a Korean husband," people have told me, without the slightest hesitation.

"My mom says Korean and Filipino men are the same," I said at work one day, my eyes lowered as I flipped through checks. "And I would never date a Filipino guy--I mean, a Filipino-American, yeah, but a guy from the motherland? Never.

"A lot of men over there think they own their wives and girlfriends and think it's perfectly acceptable to beat them and their kids into submission. If Korean men think the same way, no thanks."

"The city guys have to be more progressive," S said over coffee two weeks ago.

"Or you need to date a rich, foreign businessman," V chimed in. "South Korea's economy is growing. There have to be thousands of those there."

To be honest, I'm not really looking for a long-term romance with any sort of man at the moment. Dating could be fun, sure, but given that I don't know any Korean whatsoever, I don't see that happening. And I'm grateful I'm not seeing anyone right now, otherwise I would have never jumped at the chance to teach overseas.

Most people my age are looking for their soul mate, or at least a commitment and the promise of that four-bedroom home in the suburbs. I can relate--I never said I'd want to travel forever, and eventually I'll tire and want to settle down. But right now I have no responsibilities, no massive debt and no boyfriend. Why shouldn't I hop on the next plane, explore a new career and live day-to-day on a measly paycheck?

I'm not asking for fame, riches or even a book deal. All this country mouse longs for is a studio apartment, job security and stamps in her passport. When I hint at this, every middle-aged Filipino woman clutches her child to their bosom and, through narrowed eyes spraying bullets into the back of my head, prays their innocent spawn will not be inflicted with the same case of wanderlust.

Over the years, however, Mom has grown accustomed to the idea that I will most likely stay single for the rest of my life. (After all, she has two other strapping young daughters who can provide her with bundles of fat, smiling children.) Understandably, she's worried that no one will take care of me when I'm elderly, or that I'll be alone. To her, no fate is worse than that of solitude.

"You're going to have to go out and be social, make friends. Sure, you can be alone and you could survive. You've lived that way before. But why would you want that for yourself? Go out, have fun--put yourself out there."