January 28, 1984. That was the day my U.S. visa was set to expire. I had finished school but hadn't found a job. At this rate, I would have to return to Korea as an "old maid." My heart was heavy with worry, feeling terribly guilty toward my parents who had supported my studies abroad.
One day, I was sitting in a laundromat, reading an art magazine over the hum of the washing machines. A middle-aged Korean man kept glancing at me. Sure enough, he walked over and struck up a conversation. "Are you Korean?" He peeked at the magazine in my hands and asked, "Are you studying art by any chance?" Little did I know that this chance encounter would hold the key to solving my visa crisis. "Do you have a boyfriend? I know a junior colleague who is still single. Why don't you come over to my place this weekend?"
I tried on one outfit after another, wanting to cover up how gaunt and exhausted I looked from the hardships of international student life, but I couldn't find anything right. I finally arrived at the senior's apartment, stepping inside with shy, hesitant steps. Suddenly, a familiar voice broke the silence. "Hey! What are you doing here?" I looked closely. It was an old college classmate who had immigrated to the U.S. during our senior year. "You’re still not married?" he asked. "What about you?" "Well, I’m a guy, so I’ve got time," he said, looking perfectly relaxed. Back in college, we had never exchanged a single word, worried that even making eye contact might lead to awkward rumors. Yet here we were, crossing paths in a foreign country.
As a green card holder, he was in no rush. But with my visa expiring in just a few days, I was desperate. The thought of facing my parents, who would be sick with worry over their unmarried daughter, made my heart race. Then, a thought crossed my mind: Maybe living far away from my parents is its own way of being a good daughter. Gathering every ounce of courage I didn't know I had, I blurted out, "Hey, will you help me get a green card?" "You know it costs a lot of money to do a green card marriage these days, right?" "My visa is ending right away! Just tell me how much." "Well, even I don't know that." Seeing me cornered, my classmate was entirely amused, thoroughly enjoying himself.
In the end, driven by urgency, I took the lead. I rushed to a jewelry shop in Chinatown and bought two rings—mine for $30 and his for $50. With only one day left before my visa expired, I threw him into a taxi, picked up two friends to act as witnesses, and raced to City Hall. The marriage commissioner rattled through the vows in just one minute and forty-five seconds. Before we could even yell, "Wait, take it again!" for a proper photo, the ceremony was over. I even paid for our celebratory lunch—accompanied by shots of Chinese liquor—at a restaurant named Sil-rak-gi in Chinatown.
When we reached the subway entrance after lunch, he asked, "Are we good now?" "Yeah, we're good." With that, he got on a train to his studio, and I got on another back to my apartment.
Sometime later, my father-in-law, who lived in Los Angeles, sent us plane tickets, saying he wanted to meet me. Fortunately, he took a great liking to me. He offered to throw us a proper wedding and buy me a diamond ring. I spoke up carefully but firmly. "Father, I am so grateful, but I don't really need a diamond ring. If it's alright, could you give us the money for the ring instead? We would like to use it to build a foundation for our lives."
Perhaps as a result of that choice, I have lived my entire married life without a diamond ring. Every year around our anniversary, my husband insists on buying me a diamond as big as a soybean, but I still prefer this $30 ring, whose exact gold karat I don't even know.
As the years have passed and we have grown older, both of our fingers have thickened, and the rings won't budge. Sometimes, seeing the thin band completely buried in my husband's chubby finger, I playfully tease him about cutting it off. "It looks like it's hurting your finger. Let's just cut it off." "What are you talking about? It's fine," he says. "How could we cut such a precious ring?" Looking down at the slender band on his finger, a warm, content smile spreads across his face as he gently strokes it.
No comments:
Post a Comment