My U.S. visa was going to expire on January 28, 1984. I had finished school but couldn’t find a job. I had to return to Korea as a single woman. I felt very sorry to my parents who had sent me to study abroad.
One day, I was doing laundry at a laundromat and reading an art magazine. A middle-aged man who looked Korean was watching me. As I expected, he said,
“Are you Korean?”
Then he looked at my magazine and asked,
“Are you studying art?”
That’s how it started. I didn’t know then that he would help me solve my visa problem! He turned out to be my college senior.
“Do you have a boyfriend? I have a friend who is still single. Why don’t you come to my house this weekend?”
I tried on different clothes to hide my tired and skinny look from studying abroad, but nothing seemed good. I shyly walked into my senior’s apartment.
“Hey! How did you get here?”
A man shouted. He looked familiar. I looked closely — he was my college classmate who moved to the U.S. in our senior year.
“You’re still not married?” he asked.
“What about you?” I said.
He looked calm, like saying, “I’m a guy, so I still have time.”
He had a green card and didn’t worry much. But my visa was ending soon, and I had to go back to Seoul. I felt anxious thinking about my parents, who were worried that their daughter was not married. I thought it might be better for them if I lived far away. So I asked him bravely,
“Can you help me get a green card?”
He replied,
“These days it costs a lot of money to get one.”
“My visa is ending soon. How much does it cost?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
He seemed excited.
I quickly went to a jewelry store in Chinatown. I bought a ring for myself for $30 and one for him for $50. One day before my visa expired, I took him in a taxi with a few friends and went to city hall. The wedding ceremony lasted only 1 minute and 45 seconds. The judge spoke quickly. We didn’t even have time to say, “One more time for a photo!” Just like that, we were married.
We had lunch in Chinatown, drinking Chinese liquor. Then at the subway entrance,
“Are we done?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s done,” I said.
He went back to his studio, and I took the train back to my apartment.
Later, his father who lived in L.A. wanted to meet me. He sent me a plane ticket and said he liked me. He wanted to give us a wedding and buy me a diamond ring.
I said,
“I’m sorry, but I don’t need a diamond ring. Can you give me money instead of a ring?”
He looked shocked.
“Why?” he asked.
“I want to use the money to start our new life.”
Now it’s been 31 years of marriage. I still don’t have a diamond ring. Every year, my husband says he will buy me a big diamond ring. But I like the $30 ring — I don’t even know how much gold is in it.
Now that we are older, both our fingers are bigger. The ring doesn’t come off anymore. Sometimes, I try to convince my husband to cut it off.
“Your finger might get hurt,” I say.
He says,
“What are you talking about? This is a precious ring!”
He smiles and looks at the ring with love.
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