May 17, 2016-
Five years ago, the summer before my senior year, I was finally comfortable going back to South Korea. I haven't been to South Korea ever since I had immigrated to the United States sixteen years ago. Immigration paperwork was the only thing that stopped me from visiting the motherland. The sheer trauma of that process still lingers with me - the constant tuberculosis shots, fingerprints, driving to USCSIS, and having my picture taken. Every time I pass by a USCIS, I can feel the nervous energy of all those immigrants who are trying their best to create a home here.
I booked a flight to South Korea and went with two of my friends, Jordan and Eric. I felt like a tourist in a country that birthed me and was my mother tongue. My cousins, who were about 20 years older than me, showed us around Seoul. It was such a beautiful city. I thought about moving back to South Korea after college for a hot second but knew that I would be a world apart from my parents. We ate naengmyun, jjajangmyun, hoduk, and korean fried chicken. We visited the infamous Gyeongbokgung Palace and wore traditional Korean clothing.
But before I went, my umma told me I had to meet my grandparents on my appa's side. Both my grandparents on my umma's side were deceased before I was born. I didn't want to meet them when I was in Korea because they never reached out to me my entire life. They don't even know what I looked like back then. My appa had a lousy relationship with his appa because he abandoned him for a mistress when he was young. But, being the supportive ddal that I am, I promised to go visit them.
My cousin (on my umma's side), who knew about my relationship with my grandparents, took me shopping the day before to prepare to meet them. I bought expensive red grapes and purchased a new outfit to meet them. He dropped me off at their apartment, which was near Seoul National University. I went up three flights of stairs to their flat, which was small and had too many items for the amount of space they had. My aunt (appa's younger sister) didn't even greet me when I came in. She gave me a glass of water and sat at the dining room table. My grandma gave me a hug and "tried" to hold a conversation with me. My Korean is good, suitable for a Korean American, but not as a Korean. How was I about to share 16 years of my life with her in one sitting? My grandpa was sitting on the floor staring at me. He looked a lot like my appa, which was scary. He didn't know what to say to me, so I just bowed constantly and laughed awkwardly. My grandpa wanted to take me to lunch at his favorite ssullungtang place, so I went with him. We took a train and two subways deep inside Seoul to go to this alleyway restaurant filled with smokers and drinkers.
As we ate our bowl of ssullungtang (which I can never eat again), the first thing he asked me was if I had brought him money ($3,000 precisely). I was confused, so I excused myself to go to the bathroom to call my parents. As soon as I said the word "money," my umma told me to leave. I went back and told him I had to meet Jordan and Eric at Hongdae. We avoided the conversation about money, and he walked me to Hongdae. I met up with Eric and Jordan after an emergency text message and said my final goodbye to him. The last memory of him was him staring at me as I walk away near a bread shop.
I went back to our Airbnb crying and crying all night. I knew my grandparents never really liked me because I was their only granddaughter. They've always wanted a grandson to carry on the name. That night, my umma called to tell me that I don't have to see my grandparents again and to have fun. How was I supposed to have fun when family rejects you? The only family I have in the States are my parents. I ended up leaving Korea early because I couldn't stay there anymore. The delusion of the "American Dream" was why my grandparents resented me. They thought because I went to a good university, had white friends, and worked for a Fortune 500 that summer that I already "had" it and didn't share the wealth with them. If they only knew anything.
The smell of ssullungtang makes me sick to this day. The memories came back from the scent of Korean street food, the smoke-filled restaurant, the cool breeze that day, the last look on his face. My entire adolescent years, a part of me resented my parents for immigrating here. A lonely kid who grew up on food stamps, free lunches, didn't have a roof over our heads, I still think about those times. "Why can't we just move back to Korea?" was my phrase when things were difficult. I wanted to help my parents escape a situation by going back to the root of it all. That last encounter in Hongdae is when I knew the answer to that question.
Seven months later, while walking down State Street after dinner with a few friends, my appa calls me to tell me that my grandpa has passed away. He sounded sad for someone who was never close to him. I felt nothing. As someone who considers themselves as a pretty empathetic person, I felt nothing. He asked me if I wanted to go to his funeral in Korea in place of him (owning a small business calls for no vacation). I declined, hung up the phone, and went along with my night. To this day, I still fear that I made the wrong decision of not going. Saying my last goodbye to someone, I tried to love and accept as family. I haven't talked to my grandma and aunt to this day, May 17th being the last time we talked (and probably will be the last).
May 17 still haunts me to some extent. I walked home this morning tearing up as I passed the gas station because the weather was exactly what it was that day five years ago. Alexander Chee once quoted, "You turn yourself into the weapon when you strike someone else—in the end, another way to erase yourself—and so you do that last. In the meantime, you fight that first fight with yourself, for yourself". I want to erase myself from that day, those few hours spent with him. I've never felt more dehumanized. He answered the question that I fought for so long my entire life. For that, I am grateful.
A year later, Christine, Syd, and I had a layover in Seoul on our way to Vietnam. I tried my best to look for an affordable flight that didn't have a layover there. While that didn't work out, we had an eight-hour layover. We took a bus to Seoul from Incheon airport. We ate food, explored palaces, and went to small cafes. We did make a stop at Hongdae, and I stared at the spot my grandpa was standing precisely a year ago. I didn't tell Syd and Christine about that encounter, but they were aware of my circumstances with my grandparents. I tried for many years to write about that day because it haunted me. I'm now where I can talk about going to Korea to visit and explore as a “gyopo” (the historically used term gyopo meaning "nationals" has come to have negative connotations as referring to people who, as a result of living as sojourners outside the "home country", have lost touch with their Korean roots). Even though its cultural relativism will forever linger with me, I've slowly learned to detach myself from it. I wasn't sure if I was making the right decision, but it felt good, and my own self is worth taking care of.
I'm spending today like another ordinary Monday. My heart is a little heavy, but I know I tried to protect something or someone that I loved. For that, I am always ready.