Memoir: Home Away From Home
Assignment:
In this piece, I was assigned to consider how a place I’ve encountered in my life embodies abstract ideas and personal narratives. After choosing a location from my brainstormed list of significant places from my memories, I had to think about its significance and the shifts I’ve encountered through my experiences there and my associations with the place. Then I had to think on a larger scale and explore the significances beyond the personal and how the place itself has shifted through memory, because of me, or independent from me. I chose my grandparent’s home in South Korea and discussed my connections to the place throughout my visits and its change throughout my own change throughout the years.
Essay:
Three years old. Black hair chopped to the bottom of my chin. A worn out watermelon dress; evidently my favorite. Arms out straight, wide legged stance, and a semi-toothy grin. None of these details are directly from my memory, but rather the first picture I took in my grandparent’s home in Seoul, Korea. In the blurred background, I can still make out the crowded wooden furniture, chipped in the corners, the entire ensemble looking like its own little antique shop. There are mismatched table mats, bright, garish, and from the dollar store down the street. I don’t remember much apart from what the photos in my mom’s album tell me.
Eleven years old. Hair grown to the middle of my back. Limbs long, gangly, and awkward. The furniture is exactly the same, nearly in the same places. Maybe more dust collected in the corners, each pile an ecosystem of lint, crumbs, and whatever else. After my grandmother injured her back and my uncles took charge of the housekeeping, the level of cleanliness had dropped. I remember dancing and navigating my body through the tight spaces in the kitchen, always bumping my hip on the corner of the square table. There was always a strong odor of kimchi and anchovies. But after a couple days and lots of whispered complaints into my mom’s ear, I got accustomed to the smell. But there was also the scent of cigarettes permanently lingering in the air. On either side of the kitchen were my uncles’ rooms. Both bachelors, both in their 40s, both smokers. I never got used to the smell.
That summer went by fast, and all I remember is the humidity that reached through the open mesh window screens at night, making my baby hairs stick to the side of my neck. That, and the screaming of my younger cousin. She was a flaming fire- intense and always requiring attention. The small space of my grandparent’s apartment could not hold both our energies, and my cousin felt my presence threaten her position of importance. While I was questioned about my life in America, she threw tantrums in the patio adjacent to the living room where we were all sitting. She kicked the brown ceramic pots, causing the soil to spill out and the stems of the plants to quiver. Shocked and actually quite embarrassed, I threw her some disdainful looks. I complained to my mom, but she replied that as the older one of the two, I should try to be understanding and inclusive. I was used to being the baby of the family, having an older sister and brother. But this situation changed my perspective on my behavior back in America, as well as in here. Seeing how tantrums and immaturity was embarrassing to witness, I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t act like so with my siblings and parents. And here in Korea, I matured a bit and learned how to be an older sister. The next few days, we were inseparable. I now remember combing her hair in the oval mirror with the floral ornamentation that was hung high on the bedroom wall. I remember taking turns on the massage chair that was placed awkwardly next to the front door. And jumping up as soon as we saw the doorknob move, knowing that it was my grandfather coming back from work with ice cream for in his hands. I miss my grandfather.
Fifteen years old. Hair brushing my shoulders, dyed an unfortunate copper color. Taller and more awkward than ever. On the surface, the apartment looks nearly the same. Except it is not, something is missing. My grandfather passed away the winter before, leaving behind only memories of his existence. His jacket is no longer slung over the back of the cracked black leather couch, and his slippers are no longer occupying the corner space of the straw mat in front of the tv. The dynamic of the place has shifted as well. In traditional Korean culture, the eldest male takes charge of the household and all family matters. But with him gone, my eldest uncle took over the position, except he lived out of the apartment, making matters that had once seemed simple, more complex.
One of my favorite memories in this apartment was back when I was eleven, and my grandfather woke me up in the middle of the night, with two spoons and a pint of coffee ice cream in his hands. Together, we ate that ice cream and watched cartoons on the small, grainy tv screen until the sun came up. My mom still doesn’t know to this day, and it will forever be our little secret. I don’t remember too much else about my grandfather, but I think that’s why my mind clings onto this specific memory.
My grandparent’s is a fond place I can look back too. It was the place where I became closer to my relatives across the ocean, and the place where I grew closer to my Korean heritage. Born in America, I felt foreign and out of place in Korea. But in the safe space of my grandparent’s home and embrace, I gained experience, growth, and comfort.
The apartment complex itself parallels my blend of two identities. It hovers between the two starkly different landscapes of the metropolitan city of Seoul and its more rural outskirts. As soon as I turn left from the apartment, passing the convenience store and its neon welcome lights, I automatically run into streets crowded with shops selling their new line of snail slime face masks and anti-aging cream. Street food carts are abundant, and their spicy smells, mixed with the scent of sewage and city pollution waft to my nose, causing my nose to wrinkle and my stomach to growl. However, walk the opposite direction from the apartment, maybe a mile or so up a hill, and then down, I’ll encounter a completely different landscape. There are no crowded streets, or crowded sound. There is farmland, lush with vegetation, and men in their white wifebeaters hunched over radish plants. But the apartment hold both men in suits that commute to the city, as well as farmers that travel backyard to work in the fields.
Though it is miles away, and I rarely visit, I can call it one of my homes.
Reflection:
Through this assignment, I developed my skills on writing personal narratives and thinking about my topic. It was thought provoking in that I had to write something from my memory and my life but delve further into the location and make connections I have not made before. I had to go deep and reflect on myself and how I regard my identity in America and Korea in order to make these connections. This thoughtful brainstorming and preparation is helpful in all aspects of the different courses I am taking as it helps me connect more to my work and create deeper meaning and purpose behind each piece. I came across some challenges in thinking on a broader level because I was writing something so personal to me. However, once I stepped back and took some time away from it, it gave my brain some time to take the focus off the personal and in more of a broader spectrum.
