Saturday, December 22, 2012
언니의 영주권 오디세이
Friday, December 21, 2012
Sister's green card Odyssey
"Sister, don’t forget your green card."
My sister, her husband, my husband, and I drove north. We wanted to visit the Thousand Islands and cross into Canada to test out my sister and brother-in-law’s brand-new green cards. After touring the Thousand Islands, we approached the border to Canada. While we were lingering around the checkpoint, we were stopped by border officers. A bit nervous, we showed them the green cards. To our relief, they just smiled and said, “Enjoy your trip.” At that moment, all the years of waiting and struggling to get the green card flashed through our minds.
My sister got her green card through her daughter, my niece. Unlike me, my niece is tall for a woman. Our father once said, “I’m short, and your niece is tall, so it might be hard for you and her to get married in Korea. It’s better for her to go abroad.” That was one of the small reasons both of us left Korea.
My mother had suffered a lot during the Korean War. She always warned that when war breaks out, daughters are especially vulnerable. She believed daughters should be well-educated and encouraged studying abroad. My father, too, believed that a person should see the world to truly grow up. So, they tried to fix their children’s weaknesses by sending them overseas.
My niece went to college in Korea and then came to New York for further studies. Studying was important, but she also needed to get married — which wasn’t easy in New York. She was tall and good-looking, but perhaps because she lacked charm, she hadn’t dated anyone. She was like “a sack of barley just sitting in a room,” as the Korean saying goes.
I asked around and tried to set her up with someone. But even when introduced to men, she showed no interest. It was frustrating. One big reason was that her parents didn’t live in the U.S., which made things harder for her in the dating world. So, my sister and brother-in-law came to the U.S. on tourist visas.
The third man she met wasn’t really her type, but we pushed her to keep seeing him. On the man’s side, he was very eager. After a few more dates, it seemed like she started to warm up to him. There were concerns. My niece had grown up in Korea, and her fiancé had moved to the U.S. when he was a child, so they had different cultural backgrounds. But he was hardworking, and she had no real flaws, so they got married and now live happily with a son and daughter.
While helping my niece get married, my sister and her husband became undocumented. I had to push my niece to get her U.S. citizenship quickly so she could sponsor her parents for green cards. Thankfully, her husband acted fast, and they finally got their green cards.
When I look back, it all feels like it happened so smoothly — but in reality, it was a long, difficult journey. If even one thing had gone wrong, my sister might have remained undocumented, and my niece could’ve still been sitting alone in her room like a barley sack. Just thinking about it gives me chills.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
그리운 사람
Friday, November 30, 2012
A person who misses
I saw a tall person walking with a hunched back, wearing black leather clothes and leg warmers. I almost said, “Oh, that’s our senior. Stop the car!” but then I remembered.
He told us the story of going to finalize his divorce with his ex-wife at least a dozen times.
“I was waiting for my turn at the courthouse, and the couple in front of me started arguing. Can you believe it? They came to get divorced and were still fighting!”
When talking about other people’s divorces, his voice got loud and excited.
“When it was finally our turn, we said our final vows to end things nicely. But then she just turned around, jumped into a taxi, and sped away. I can still see that taxi driving off in my mind.”
When it came to his own divorce, his voice got quiet.
He was one of the witnesses at our wedding at city hall. The retired army colonel who performed the short ceremony thought none of us understood English, so he rushed through the vows even more quickly than usual. We didn’t even have time to take pictures. Dr. Jung actually demanded we do it again.
“Hey, they say if a divorced person officiates your wedding, the couple will end up divorcing too. Is that okay?”
He said this with a worried but excited look on his face as he officiated my younger sister’s wedding. Sadly, her marriage didn’t go smoothly.
On holidays like today, I still feel like he’ll call me, saying:
“Hey, do you have any kimchi?”
Now I say things like:
“Dr. Jung is probably drinking with Mr. Lee in heaven by now, right?”
Saturday, November 17, 2012
친구의 분노
“너를 선택하지 않은 것은 큰 실수 한 거야. 복을 찬 거야.”
Friday, November 16, 2012
The anger of friend's
The traffic on the way to Chelsea in Manhattan was terrible. A friend from back in school, who now lives in Seoul, was holding a solo exhibition in Chelsea—New York’s gallery district.
They’d been saying he was finally making it big in Korea, and now here he was, in New York!
It felt great and made me proud to know that even a poor artist could succeed and live well. I was excited to see his work and couldn’t wait to get there.
When I arrived, he was surrounded by visitors, and he looked so polished that I barely recognized him. Watching him from a distance, my mind went back to our college days.
Back in art school, most of the male students were poor—especially compared to the female students. He was even poorer than most, having come from a rural area. Whenever tuition was due, the other guys would worry as if it were their own problem. Even after class, he would sit silently in the studio—not drawing, but simply with nowhere else to go because he had no money.
Wanting to catch up, I invited him over to my place. The quiet, gloomy guy I remembered from school turned out to be so funny—we ended up talking and laughing all night. We kept saying, “Hey, remember that guy? You know, that guy…” as we searched our memories and brought the past back to life. Eventually, with a little alcohol, the story we all knew came out—his old heartbreak.
He had dated a classmate a year below us for a long time. But her parents strongly opposed their relationship because he was a poor artist. How painful it must’ve been to hear them belittle him, even though he studied the same thing as their daughter. In the end, she couldn’t go against her family and married a wealthy man instead.
On her wedding day, he showed up but was dragged out by her brothers-in-law.
She got married and moved overseas. That left a deep wound, and he spent his young adult years in heartbreak and sadness. Though it happened long ago, as he told the story, the room went silent.
But life rarely stays on one path. When her husband’s business failed, she quietly returned to Korea. After he became a successful and well-known artist, she began showing up at his exhibitions. And recently, she even started calling him, asking to meet. He said he refused in an annoyed voice.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
당신은 특별한가요?
Friday, November 9, 2012
Are you special?
“The plane hasn’t landed already, has it?”
Feeling anxious, I left my husband—who said he’d go park the car—and rushed into Terminal 1 toward the arrivals area for flights from Seoul.
People were slowly coming out. I saw a Korean woman nearby wave to a man in a suit and asked her,
My child, who had left home young and full of dreams to see the world, finally appeared. His skin was dark from the sun, and he had a huge backpack on. He looked like a Southeast Asian traveler. First class or economy—it’s just a difference in comfort, not in speed. The plane flies the same for everyone!
At the Alaska airport, where the plane stopped briefly, I got off and looked around to find her—but she was nowhere to be found.
This distant cousin had lived a hard life in Korea, then moved to the U.S.—the land of dreams—and worked hard in her small business. She became fairly successful. We had met a few times at family gatherings. Each time, she would greet me with a slightly condescending tone:
“Still living in that place?”
Long ago, she had visited me in my freezing studio apartment in Brooklyn with no heat. Maybe that image stuck with her. In her mind, I was probably still shivering there, wrapped in a blanket.
For many of us, life in America started as a life of struggle. When we left Korea, we did it with the hope of filling in the gaps in our lives—to live better. But some people, once they feel a little more stable, forget those hard times. Instead, they let out shallow, cheap feelings of superiority at every chance they get.
Thinking about it now, I realize that I, too, must have said or done things that left scars in others—things that came from my own small pride. Maybe the arrogance others show me now isn’t something I should be so angry about.
Maybe it’s just my turn.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
여자 넷이 모이면
내 혀는 친구의 짙은 전라도 사투리에 익숙해져 갔다.
Friday, November 2, 2012
When the four women get together
Four women, each from a different region of Korea—Gyeongsang-do, Jeolla-do, Chungcheong-do, and Seoul—were excited, laughing so loudly the car almost shook. No wonder—we were off on a 2-night, 3-day trip, leaving our husbands behind at home to cook for themselves.
One friend had bought a house 20 years ago near the Connecticut River, about two hours north of Manhattan. It had an indoor pool, so we even packed swimsuits. Normally, we meet once a month, but the conversations barely get going before we have to say goodbye and go home to take care of our husbands. This time, we decided to stretch out on the floor, let loose, and talk until we’d said it all.
Even though it was lightly raining, we were happy. We stopped at a rest area, sipped coffee while looking out the window, and for a moment we fell quiet, watching the autumn leaves tumble around in the rain—just like us, blown around by life. But our chatter picked right back up and didn’t stop until we got to the house, sat around a big table, and laid out all the food we’d brought to share.
As if we had rehearsed it, we each took turns talking—one at a time. Despite the stereotype that people from Chungcheong-do are slow, our friend from there is the fastest and most energetic of us all. She always walks ahead and is our unofficial leader.
Our friend from Gyeongsang-do is hardworking and outgoing. She supports the leader and makes our gatherings run smoothly. The friend from Jeolla-do still speaks with a strong regional accent, even after living in America for over 30 years. Her way of speaking is warm and fun—it made everything livelier. Her dialect reminded us of home, of our childhood days running around in the Korean countryside.
We laughed until we cried, were shocked by some of the more serious stories, and before we knew it, hours had passed. Then we moved to the swimming pool—not to swim, really, but to keep talking. With our heads close together, we kept chatting even as we shivered in the cold water. Amazing how long we could talk in there!
At dinner, with wine in hand, the stories continued. By the end, our voices were hoarse and raspy. Even so, we stayed up talking until 3 a.m., only going to bed when we couldn’t stay awake any longer.
Our conversations weren’t filled with complaints about mothers-in-law, gossip about husbands, or bragging about our kids. And we definitely didn’t talk badly about other friends.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
‘NO’를 잘하는 사람
Friday, October 26, 2012
A person who is good at NO
That was a voicemail—not from a friend, but from a friend’s younger sister. A voice I didn’t even recognize.
A long time ago, I came home one evening after running errands. In the dark, that same younger sister was standing at my door with a huge suitcase. She followed me inside, put two bottles of wine on the table, and started drinking, maybe to ease the awkwardness. Then she stayed at my place for about ten days and left. Now, is she calling again to stay at my house? What does she expect me to do?
Maybe she feels excited about her trip, but I didn’t feel so great listening to that message. I have a busy life too—running around all day. And honestly, I’ve had some unpleasant experiences with guests in the past. No matter how much I tried to be kind, something about the way I live—maybe the little American habits I’ve picked up—must have made them uncomfortable. Even when I let them stay, they left saying they felt “disappointed.”
Most visitors seem determined to save money on hotels just to buy one more luxury item.
They come with no regard for the host’s personal space. They only focus on their own trip goals.
They say things like:
“Why are you making a big deal out of this?”
“I only come to New York once in a while.”
“Koreans shouldn't treat each other like this.”
“You’ve become too American.”
“This isn’t how people should live.”
Whether I let them stay or not, the result is the same—they always leave feeling “disappointed.”
I even heard a story of a woman who let a guest stay and ended up losing her husband. What more needs to be said?
Why can’t anyone just call and say,
“I’m staying at a hotel. If you’re free, let’s meet for coffee.”
Why can’t they be polite and classy, like someone calling from a hotel lobby? In over 30 years of living in the U.S., maybe three people have ever done that—about once every 10 years. Isn’t Korea supposed to be a developed country now? And still, people don’t think their sleeping arrangements matter much, even when they’re on a long trip.
Dear friend’s sister, You didn’t call because you want to stay at my house again… right?
You’re grown now, doing well, eating well. I hope you just stay comfortably at a hotel this time.
Let me be clear: letting people stay at my place is now a firm “No.” There was a time I struggled because I didn’t say no. Then there was a time I was vague about it—and that hurt even more.
Eventually, I decided to become someone who’s good at saying no. The first time is the hardest. But once I got better at saying it, problems started to go away. Still… why does it feel so uncomfortable in my heart?
Saturday, October 20, 2012
해피밀
Friday, October 19, 2012
Happy Meal
The church bell rang nine times. Pigeons basking in the morning sunlight on the rooftop flapped noisily into the gray sky. Though they scattered at first, they soon flew in perfect formation, gliding toward another rooftop with orderly grace.
My child, who grew up watching people make the sign of the cross in front of the neighborhood church, used to do the same every time we passed the McDonald’s next to the church. Then, they would look up at me with pleading eyes—asking for a Happy Meal. Did my child know I couldn’t afford a hamburger? They never begged, just made the sign of the cross two or three times. Were they praying to God, asking for their mom and dad to make enough money so they could eat a Happy Meal?
Now grown up, my child never eats at McDonald’s, no matter how hungry.
Sometimes I see them standing in front of an expensive restaurant, studying the menu with a serious look. And I wonder—are they making the sign of the cross again?
Back then, when my child prayed so earnestly for a Happy Meal, I, too, prayed just as earnestly—like old mothers who used to place a bowl of water out and pray with all their heart. Didn’t those women raise their children and care for their husbands with the same devotion they put into their prayers?
Years ago, while touring Mexico City, I stepped into an old, worn-out church. There, I saw a poorly dressed woman in an empty hallway, holding onto the railing beneath a statue and sobbing quietly, her shoulders shaking. In her desperate prayer, I saw the image of my mother and grandmother, praying over bowls of water in our home.
When I walk through busy Manhattan, I sometimes step into a church and sit quietly in the back to pray. The deep stillness and gentle darkness bring me peace. As I watch the backs of those praying, their earnestness becomes my own—and I find myself becoming reverent without even realizing it. I also pray when I sit in a Buddhist temple near Jongno, watching the women offering their prayers. The setting may be different—dim lighting, cultural contrasts—but the sincerity is the same. Whether in a church or a temple, the earnestness feels no different. And as I sit there, I find myself quietly hoping that all their prayers come true.
Sometimes, I pause in the middle of doing the dishes to offer a prayer of thanks, looking at the bright red geranium blooming through the green leaves outside the window. I pray in the morning when I open my eyes, and at night before I go to sleep. Everything I see, hear, feel, and think fills me with gratitude.
I am not a religious person. But how could I not feel thankful, having come from a time when I couldn’t buy my child a Happy Meal to now being able to treat them to a meal at a fine restaurant? It wasn’t only my own effort that brought me here. There must have been some unknown grace or care watching over me—and this belief keeps me offering quiet prayers of gratitude.
Thank you.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
그 여자
Friday, October 12, 2012
The woman who borrowed money
People dressed in black with somber expressions were entering the funeral hall one by one.
The woman I was looking for would be sitting in the back row, just like me. After confirming my brother’s death, she would quietly get up and leave. I sat in the last row, scanning the room, watching for a woman acting suspiciously. I looked around, but I couldn’t tell who was who. All I knew was that the person who borrowed money from my brother was a woman—and I had a strong feeling she would show up to make sure he was really gone. But even if I suspected someone, what could I do? There wasn’t a single scrap of paper to prove anything.
My sister-in-law died young. She had lent a large sum of money to a woman she knew, and when she didn’t pay her back, she became stressed and anxious, chasing her down for the money. Eventually, she collapsed from a brain hemorrhage. Even her own husband didn’t know who the woman was or how much money she had lent her.
In the early 1970s, full of hope as if heading to heaven, my sister-in-law came to America after marrying a Korean-American man. Back then, women who married Koreans living abroad and moved to the U.S. usually had to be attractive. It was common for Korean-American men to return to Korea and bring back beautiful brides. My mother-in-law used to say everyone agreed she was a beautiful bride. She wasn’t just pretty—she was kind and had great cooking skills, too.
She always dressed stylishly, wore sunglasses, and liked to drive with loud music. She said it made her feel like she was really living in America. She was generous, and every weekend she’d go to the market, buy lots of meat, and host BBQs. She used to say that eating meat like that was one of the joys of living in the U.S.
In this land of dreams, she worked hard and saved money, determined to live well and be successful. But once people around her found out she had money, they sweet-talked her into lending it out—promising interest in return. She fell for it. In America, where even family members are careful about discussing money, this kind of thing is almost unthinkable. She got caught up in a messy, private financial deal—a mix of Korean and American ways—that often happens in immigrant communities.
Her young son, now motherless, came out of the funeral hall holding her framed photo and crying. Her daughter, whom she once proudly said would never have to touch a drop of water while growing up, wailed in grief. Her sudden death left close family and relatives in complete shock.
As the saying goes, people act one way when they’re asking for help and another once they’ve gotten what they want. The woman who once begged for money, but then refused to repay it—raising her voice, ignoring responsibility— That woman who ultimately drove my sister-in-law to her death...
Is she now living comfortably, stretching out her legs without a care in the world? Maybe. Maybe not. But I truly, sincerely hope not.