Back to writing–in the here and now

Last year, I joined a writer’s online workshop Write From Your Center – 31 Day of Mindfulness and Writing Exercises, but never completed them. Why? I can think of more than a couple of excuses; some are even valid. Yes, I was busy—who in the world isn’t? But the truth is, I couldn’t bring myself to commit back to writing. Why? Because I was afraid that I wasn’t good enough to write. Fear was holding me back again.

Then it hit me. So what if I’m not an outstanding writer? (As if anyone cares.) At least I’m putting myself out there and am still trying to write. I’m sharing my stories. Who knows? Someone might like it. It might even comfort someone. I would get comforted even if no one else would.

Writing gives me joy, and it is a way to communicate with the world while gaining some perspective. So here I am, back to writing.

Rumi, “Close your eyes and open the window of your heart. Only when you have no more need for acceptance, will everything you do be accepted.”

What is the status of the window of my heart nowadays? I’m not sure. It feels blurred. I cannot seem to fully embrace myself. Stress level is high, and I’ve been struggling with procrastination. I accept that life is messy, but deep down inside, I don’t think I can accept that MY life should be THIS chaotic.

It’s been nine months since I got the green card. I’m finally eligible to work in the US. Upon receiving the green card, I had thought that by now, I would have accomplished something. Anything. Whether it be authoring and publishing a book, getting a job, or tapping into some passive income, making emojis, I thought by now I would have achieved something. But I see an endless list of the things that I have abandoned. I don’t even remember this year’s goals clearly, except that I wanted to lose weight, get a job, and get published. And even those goals seem too vague or lazy, not action-oriented. But I am changing it now.

First, let me retrospect on how I got here. I would then have to go back to my summer. I visited Korea in five and a half years and spent the entire summer there. It felt glorious at first, but it left me with sorrow. I hadn’t realized that I missed Korea so much. I was grateful to reconnect with so many of my friends and colleagues, and family members, both close and distant. Everything felt so fast and convenient. I enjoyed being a pedestrian again in the streets of Korea. I longed for the life I once had.

However, I also realized that to make Korea my home again, my U.S.-born child would have to suffer. It’s funny how the recurrent theme of identity, being in between or betwixt as a third-culture kid, plays out in my life and even extends to my daughter’s life. My mom would have gone through similar things as a Korean expat to the Middle East. Had I not vowed to myself that I would return to Korea and root myself in my beloved home country? Again, why am I here?

It was half accidental and half purposeful. I came to the US as the wife of a Ph.D. student. Was I consciously following the American dream? I don’t know. Sure, there were things that I wasn’t happy about Korea: work-life balance or the lack thereof, the intense demand for conformity, to name a few. But when we first came here, I didn’t know I would spend the next decade here. Nor had I known that I was going to have a daughter. But that’s how my journey has unfolded.

Do I like the US? Well, it’s not perfect, but it has become (a second) home. My US-born daughter considers herself American. Her first language was Korean, but she has become much more fluent in English, almost reluctant to speak Korean. She had barely remembered Korea from her last visit.

Sometimes her unwillingness to learn Korea(n) and its culture makes my heart ache. But I realize if we were to go back to Korea, which incidentally no one in my immediate family seems to want to, I’d be uprooting my daughter from the only home she knows. Talk about irony. I resented my parents for doing just that, around her age, when I had to move to Tunisia and live there for three years. Starting schooling in a French school in the Middle East was challenging, but I survived. Admittedly, it was even more difficult adjusting back to Korea.

Sia doesn’t even like when we bring up moving to a different town and switching school. I can’t even imagine how she’d react to going back to Korea.

How ironic and silly. Before the green card, when Hubby didn’t make it to the H1b lottery for the third time, I was afraid that our family might get kicked out of the US. Now that we have a choice, I mourn for the lost opportunity of staying (or going back) in Korea. But the grass will always seem greener on the other side. I should stop myself from jumping into the rabbit hole of pondering on the road not taken for the umpteenth time. It’s time to own my decisions and start from where I stand. In the here and now. And back to writing.

길모어 걸스와 재미교포

친구가 여러 번 강추했던 <길모어 걸스>를 이제야 보고 있다. 연애가 양념처럼 등장하는 친구 같은 엄마와 딸의 성장 드라마다. 재미있다. 처음 에피소드가 따라가기 조금 힘들었는데 지금은 왜 이걸 안 봤을까 싶을 정도로 빠져들어 버렸다. 대놓고 드라마를 볼 수 있는(?) 설거지와 빨래 개는 시간이 기다려질 정도다. 3월 중순에 보기 시작했는데, 벌써 시즌 3을 보고 있다.

부잣집 반항아 외동딸 로렐라이 길모어는 16세에 딸을 낳는다. 딸의 이름도 자신과 똑같이 로렐라이 길모어(애칭 로리)라고 짓는다. 아이 아빠와 결혼하기를 바라는 집안의 기대를 저버리고 가출하고 연을 끊고 살던 로렐라이는 하버드에 가는 게 꿈인 로리를 사립학교에 보내기 위해 부모의 경제적 지원을 청하면서 다시 부모와 정기적으로 만나게 된다.

작은 여관을 운영하는 로렐라이와 하버드에 가는 게 꿈인 고등학생 로리. 두 로렐라이 길모어는 적게 나는 나이 차이 때문인지, 아니면 온갖 역경을 함께 겪어서인지 모녀관계라기보다는 친구관계에 가깝다. 엄마 로렐라이 길모어가 쉬지 않고 뱉어대는 농담을 듣다 보면 지브리 만화의 빨강머리 앤이 커서 애를 낳았다면 이렇지 않았을까 싶기도 하다. (실제 몽고메리 소설의 빨강머리 앤은 커서 아이를 여럿 낳는데, 목사님 부인이 되면서 훨씬 더 이성적이고 어쩌면 ‘노잼’ 어른이 되어버린다.)

한국계 미국인인 로리의 베프 레인 킴네 가족 묘사가 종종 불편하게 느껴진다. 여기 나오는 모든 캐릭터 묘사에 (편견에 가까운) 고정관념이 많이 들어간 걸 생각하면, 못 참을 정도는 아니다. 어떤 부분은 소름끼치도록 사실적이라는 생각이 들기도 한다. 레인 킴 캐릭터는 각본에도 참여한 Helen Pai의 삶에서 많이 따왔다고 하는데, 그런 디테일이 살아있는 것 같다.

레인 킴은 억척스러운 엄마와 산다. (레인 킴의 아빠가 나오는 걸 본 적이 없다.) 엄마는 엄격하고 자식을 통제하는 한국인 엄마의 전형으로 나온다. 오늘 본 레인의 친척 결혼식 장면에서는 마땅한 한국인 처자를 구하지 못해 “본토에서 신부감을 데려왔다.”는 대사가 등장했다. 레인과 로리가 신부에게 화장을 해 주면서 영어로 이야기를 나누는데, 신부는 남편의 성이 기억 안 난다고 (한국어로) 말한다. 한국어 발음이 아주 약간 이상한 느낌이 들지만, 매우 정확하다. ‘정말 이랬다고?’ 싶으면서도 예전에 이민 온 한국인들의 삶을 근거리에서 보는 것 같기도 하다.

이 에피소드에서 레인은 데이트 한 번 제대로 못한 남자친구 데이브를 엄마에게 소개하지 못해 전전긍긍한다. 엄마는 데이브를 각종 행사에서 기타를 쳐 주는 착한 교인 정도로 생각한다. 레인은 데이브와 프롬에 같이 가기 위해 온갖 수를 다 쓰지만, “He’s not Korean.”이라는 엄마의 말에 반쯤 정신이 나가 데이브에게 “You’re not Korean.”이라고 중얼거리면서 엄마가 소개한 한국인 남자애와 친척의 결혼 피로연에 함께 간다.

‘남자 친구’는 꼭 한국인이어야 한다고 레인 엄마가 강조하는 부분이 웃기면서도 팩폭이라고 생각했다. 멀리 갈 것도 없다. 나만 해도 어릴 때 나는 꼭 한국 사람이랑 결혼해야지, 라고 생각했었으니까. 예전에 영어로 썼던 포스팅에서도 언급한 적이 있는데, 요르단의 미국인 학교에서 만난 어떤 미국인과 결혼한 한국 아줌마의 미숙한 영어를 보고 놀리던 아들을 보며 했던 생각이다. 굳이 그 생각을 고수해서 지금의 남편을 만난 건 아니지만, 어쨌든 그렇게 생각했던 과거의 내가 생생하다.

이민자라는 자각이 없이 미국에서 7년을 살았다. 처음에는 그냥 미국에 늦깎이 유학을 온 남편을 따라 왔을 뿐이었다. 물론 나도 한국에서 여러 가지 이유로 지쳐 있었고, 미국으로 오는 남편의 유학을 두 팔 벌려 반겼다. 박사를 마치고도 한국에 돌아갈 기회가 없진 않았다. 그러나 남편과 나는 상의 끝에 미국에 남기로 했다. 남편의 커리어를 고려한 게 제일 컸고, (내 기준으로는) 헛된 꿈이라는 게 밝혀지고 말았지만, 워라밸에 대한 로망이 있었다. 또 그 사이엔 우리에겐 미국에서 태어난 ‘독수리 여권 보유자’인 딸이 생겼다. 아이 교육을 고려하기도 했다. (문제는 그 미국 시민 딸도 영어보다는 한국어를 훨씬 더 잘 하고, 편하게 느낀다는 데 있겠지만… 그래도 앞으로도 미국에 쭉 살게 된다면 한국어를 잊어버리지 않도록 고민하면 했지, 지금의 영어 실력이 문제는 아닐 거다.)

그 딸이 며칠 전 한 말이 계속 맴돈다. “워미는 할머니랑 같이 살아서 좋겠다.”라는 말이었다. 여기서 워미는 자기 아이(인형)고 할머니는 나다. -_- (나이 40줄에 벌써 할머니라니!!! 흑.) 그 얘기를 듣고 “시아도 할머니랑 살고 싶어? 한국 가서 살까?” 그러니까 “엄마 아빠랑 같이 간다면 할머니가 있는 한국에서 살고 싶다.”고 했다. 할머니랑 2달 이상 같이 살아본 적 없는 시아가 그런 얘기를 하다니.

튀니지에 가서도 할머니랑 살고 싶다고, 한국에 돌아가자고 몇날 며칠을 울어대던 7살 내 모습이 시아랑 겹쳐 보인다. 확대 가족과 함께 하는 삶. 미국에서 조금은 더 자유로운(?) 삶. 뭐가 나은지 모르겠다. 비자/영주권 문제가 정리되지 않은 지금은 더욱 그렇다. 재미교포인지 아닌지도 모르겠고, 과연 선택을 할 수는 있을지도 모르겠다. 머리가 복잡하다.

<길모어 걸스>에서 시작해서 참 멀리도 왔다. 실은 그새 기네스 흑맥주도 한 캔 사라졌다. 에라, 모르겠다. 빨래를 걷어 개면서 <길모어 걸스>나 조금 더 봐야겠다.

Lunar New Year

It doesn’t feel festive at all, but today is Lunar New Year (actually the day after in Korea). I can’t help thinking of how we celebrate it—or the lack of the celebration—is shaping our family’s narrative as immigrants in the US.

As a kid, Seollal (the Lunar New Year in Korean) meant simply bowing to old(er) family members (sebae) and receiving pocket money (sebaedon) and advice for the new year (dukdam). There were some ancestral rites involved, but they were mostly grownups’ affairs, and I was oblivious to it. The large family gatherings were not always super fun, but they were intriguing. Sure, it sometimes meant that we had to travel several hours to get to the region where most of my dad’s family were, but it wasn’t too bad.

As I became an adult, and later a married woman, Seollal became a much more complicated affair than just sebae. I had to navigate through the difficult logistics and/or expectations of both my original family as well as my husband’s, including a few awkward extended-family get-togethers. Admittedly, this is a holiday with mixed reviews, especially from married women. The women were often bearing the brunt of the arduous holiday cooking associated with ancestral rites, who, technically aren’t even her own ancestors. while their husbands, the lawful descendant, well, rested. Media outlets spew out articles featuring the “homemakers’ post-holiday syndrome,” detailing how couples fight over which side of the family to visit first, how long they stay, or how the work is divided. You get the gist.

In recent years, I haven’t exactly been throwing “Happy wishes for the Lunar New Year” greetings around. I don’t know whether it’s just me, or just my circle of friends, but those messages are becoming fewer every year. This year, I only replied to the few greetings I have received. What with being in the US in the middle of this pandemic, I barely realized that it was indeed the Lunar New Year.

It’s not like Korea is all that festive this year. With the recent spike of Covid-19 patients in Korea (they say spike, I say hmm…), gathering of more than five people has been prohibited, which deterred the traditional family gatherings. Still, I feel as if I should have talked about it with Sia in more detail. Yesterday, the three of us spent some time together to make the goodie bags for Sia’s friends at her preschool for, well Valentine’s Day. She was really excited. I feel as if I should have emphasized more on Seollal as well. (But does Seollal really have a chance against Valentine’s Day with all the chocolates and goodies and cute notes from her friends, especially without all the sebae and the sebaedon?)

At the very least, we had the rice cake soup (Tteokguk) for the New Year and called both grandparents. This time around we skipped sebae as we did it on New Year’s Day in January. I hope she remembers. Maybe I should buy her some Hanbok (traditional Korean clothes) next time we go to Korea—-soon, I hope.

TCK 8-Jordan_Dumplings

I love dumplings (mandu in Korean). Dumplings may be one reason why I would never fully convert to a vegetarian. Yet there was a time when I didn’t want to eat one single dumpling.

In Jordan, we often had other Korean families over. Most of the families we saw often had two kids, and we usually had two or three families at a time. During the 1994 FIFA World Cup season, we hosted a viewing party of nearly 30 people (if not more). We were the only ones with a satellite, where they aired the matches, so many people signed up for the party. Naturally, my mom had kept herself and the rest of the family busy prepping for the party.

One thing on the menu was mandu, which we made and froze ahead of the party. Mandu is a dish that requires a lot of time and space. My mom had prepared the dough and the fillings. One afternoon, my mom, dad, sister, and I all sat around the table and started to make the dumplings. Knead the dough, cut the dough, fill the dough with the fillings, shape the dumpling, and repeat. The process lasted several hours. As it was a party for 30+_ people, we made quite a few dumplings—I don’t recall the exact number, but surely a couple hundred?

The tragic thing was that we didn’t get to eat dumplings at the party. My mom had forgotten all about the dumplings since they were out of sight, tucked in the freezer. To be fair, my mom, an excellent cook, had whipped up plenty of other dishes, and, as you can imagine, in a frenzy. No one else in our family realized that mandu was missing on the table. I had not remembered either. I believe I was in charge of the dessert that day, and I kept myself busy baking several batches of cookies, right after I finished eating the main course. I don’t remember what my sister was doing. My dad was busy entertaining the guests and watching the match with them.

It was after the guests all returned home that my weary mom took a look at her crumpled to-do and menu list and exclaimed, “Goodness, mandu!”

We had various types of mandu for the following days, maybe even weeks—fried, steamed, in a soup, etc. We were very relieved when we were finally done. I don’t think we had mandu again that year.

I’ve had many dumplings since, and I still like dumplings. But I never made mandu afterward—until a free cooking class at the UCLA housing about three years ago. I made mandu only once or twice after that.

Sia’s preschool is closed for the rest of the year. Maybe it is now time to make some mandu. After all, we have two whole weeks before the New Year and nowhere to go. We could have Tteokmanduguk (sliced rice cake and dumpling soup) for the New Year and celebrate New Year as we do in Korea.

TCK 7-Jordan-Letters

Air mail: these two words still make my heart flutter. During the three years I lived in Jordan, I received about 300 letters. I had never once stopped writing first. Since my friends couldn’t have known my address I wrote to them, I had to be the one who initiated the letters. I was also the one eager—maybe to the point of desperation—to write more. In fact, I would write at least two more letters before the other stopped. I’m assuming that I may well have written almost 500 letters.

The secret of my prolific correspondence was that I was a lonely teenager cast in a strange world. The letters provided me a lifeline—I could glean glimpses of the life in Korea that my friends were living. The life that I left behind seemed so perfect, when I knew from experience that it wasn’t. I had spent a most miserable semester with a stern and merciless teacher who believed in strong discipline and corporal punishment right before coming to Jordan. Yet, I might have strangely idealized the everyday life in Korea, which made me even more lonely.

The Middle East was—has been—in many ways still the “mystic” desert of oil and hijab to many Koreans. It couldn’t have helped that the Disney animated film Aladdin came a year before my departure. (I have enjoyed the film and its music thoroughly, and Robin Williams’ Genie was just perfect, but let’s face it, a lot of the film and the lyrics was based in ethnic stereotypes that aren’t too flattering.) My friends and I weren’t old enough to worry about the precarious political drama that Jordan played a main part in, but some of us knew about the Gulf War, which took place a few years before I started living in Jordan.

My friends were mostly worried about the heat. Korea had experienced historic level of heat in 1994. The news reporters supposedly conducted an experience where they cracked an egg onto the road to see if the egg would cook. Having to endure the scorching heat themselves, my friends sympathized with me for enduring what must be a much worse weather. Here’s the irony. Sure, it was hot in Jordan, but the low humidity made the weather much more agreeable. The key was to avoid the sun. As long as you were away from the sun, the heat wasn’t too bad at all. We had an AC system in the flat where we lived, but had barely turned it on. But I didn’t have the heart to tell my friends that it was way “cooler” there, so I would just say that it’s not too bad.

I am blessed with a good memory, but it was through those letters that my memory was reinforced. I read and reread the letters that my friends would send me until the next batch came. The air mail, more like snail mail in today’s standards, would take two weeks on average. Through those letters, I got to learn how my friends were doing—to whom they were close, to whom they had a crush, which activities were going on at the local church, and so on. I could also gauge the situation in Korea through those letters.

Incidentally, 1994 was the year when Kim Il-sung, the founder and leader of North Korea, died. I didn’t watch a whole lot of TV in Jordan, the local TV in particular since I didn’t understand Arabic. However, I knew that there was ample news coverage of the Korean Peninsula. Critics said that a war was imminent—after all, the two Koreas were still technically at war since the 1950. The 1953 Armistice did end the war hostilities, but the hope for a unified Korea wasn’t fulfilled. There were rumors about a nuclear war, and a lot of news outlets reported on the hoarding of necessities in Korea. But from what I gathered, the locals felt very differently. Life went on, maybe not exactly as if nothing happened, but mostly undisturbed by the death of the “arch enemy.” To sum it, the situation then was no worse than the “Toilet Paper Crisis” of 2020, if you know what I mean. 🙂