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,

“Has the flight from Seoul arrived?”

She said,

“My husband flew first class, so I’m not really sure.”

For a second, I was caught off guard.

“Oh, right… first class. They do come out earlier.”

As I watched her walk away arm-in-arm with her husband, I suddenly realized, Wait—it's the same plane!

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!

One day, my father was suddenly hospitalized. I rushed to the airport with a last-minute ticket to Seoul. As I passed through the long corridor after security, I ran into a distant relative. I was really happy to see her.

“You’re going to Seoul? Great—we can catch up during the flight.”

She replied,

“Oh, I’m flying first class.”

“I see…”

“Well, let’s talk when we stop over in Alaska. See you then.”

And with that, she entered the first-class boarding gate on the left. I turned right, into economy, and said,

“I’ll wait for you.”

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.