(Unofficial) Day 12 of the Mosaic Tour
Birth Mother Meeting | #3
Monday, 7.2
I knew my omma wanted to meet with me on this day, but the itinerary was yet unplanned. When I entered the hotel lobby that morning, Stephen, a fellow KAD and Tour volunteer, asked me about my plans for the day.
"I'm meeting with my birth mother today. No clue what we're doing."
"Who's translating for you?"
"Nobody that I know of."
"Do you want one? I can call my wife. She's just around the corner at our apartment."
"I figured we'd manage with a translation app."
"If I was meeting my birth mother for only the third time, I'd want a translator. Let me call Miri. . . She'll be here in five minutes."
And that was the beginning of one of my most memorable days during the Tour.
Two of the loveliest humans ever to walk this earth, Miri and Stephen.
Fellow Tour participants Rebecca and Peter were also largely without an itinerary, but were planning to go with Stephen to the Korean War Memorial in/near Itaewon, a Seoul neighborhood still heavily influenced by an American military presence.
After meeting her at a nearby subway station, Miri asked Omma for me if she'd like to visit the Korean War Memorial, too. She agreed. I hoped she wasn't just placating me.
The five of us took the bus in the sprinkling rain to the site. It was much, MUCH larger and impressive than I had imagined.
One of the first sights as you enter the Memorial grounds. The two figures represent South (upright) and North (weakened) Korean brothers, who meet each other in battle. Upon recognizing each other, they reconcile and within this moment, share a poignant embrace.
We would find out later that the Memorial is closed on Mondays, so sadly, we couldn't go inside the dome.
I dubbed this "The Avocado," and upon entering the grounds, this monument is front-and-center.
As is Peter's smiling face.
To the right of the Memorial's museum (which I would still like to see someday) was a war vehicle garden of sorts, bordered by this naval ship. Notice the bullet holes on the side.
The other side of the ship and the edge of the war vehicle garden. I normally have zero interest in these sorts of things, but to see the scale, quantity, and vastness of these rows and rows of tanks, planes, all-terrain, and helicopters gave me a sense of the impact this war had on the nation. Stephen, a retired American military man himself, told us that most of these vehicles were American-made. Sure enough, I recognized several familiar names - McDonnell-Douglas, Boeing. . . Interesting.
Adorbs.
Oddly enough, there was a kids' area at the Korean War Memorial. Kids + War??? Again, we couldn't go inside because they were closed, but the question remains:
HOW IN THE WORLD DO YOU EXPLAIN A NATION-ALTERING WAR TO LITTLE KIDS?
OH I KNOW CARTOON CHARACTERS.
Rebecca, Peter, and I, awkwardly smiling just outside of a war machine.
This is a replica of a super old (as in, Asian old. . . thousands of years) monument and is covered in Hanja.
Just so I could remember. I'm still trying to figure out this monument's connection to the Korean War. . . ?
One-half of my favorite sculpture at the Memorial. Shaped into two halves of a circle, it depicts so much Korean strength, resilience, and fortitude when faced with desperation. It amazes me how much this nation has advanced in such a small span of time. In only 65 years, the country went from poverty-stricken to first-world. Nowadays, nobody thinks of Korea as a third-world nation, and it's startling to think that was the case only a few generations ago.
After the Korean War Memorial, we enjoyed lunch at a restaurant featuring some of "the best Korean version of Chinese food" in Seoul.
Getting there was interesting. After about a 15-minute bus ride (during which Stephen told us all about Itaewon's American GI-influenced characteristics) we got off on a busy Seoul street and walked up to a nondescript door that, upon first glance, had exactly zero relevance to anything food-related. I think the sign read something about pants? The entryway took us up a flight of stairs and opened up to the restaurant that was promised, a somewhat-gritty, homey little place with a sprinkling of patrons.
I finally ate jajangmyeon (yay!) and it was tasty.
Part of the fun of jajangmyeon is mixing the noodles with the black bean sauce. The sauce isn't beany at all - it's more porky and smoky. I didn't have the foresight to record my first time mixing these glorious noodles and sauce, but here's a pretty accurate depiction at a Chinese restaurant in Korea.
Video credit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjFry_Rk59Y
After lunch (which Omma paid for, each and every one of us) our party split up. Rebecca and Stephen went to meet up with other Tour participants at a police station to file missing persons reports, while Miri, Peter, Omma, and I departed to Dongdaemun.
Dongdaemun, I had found out days earlier, was the Seoul neighborhood where, for several months 40 years ago, my birth parents tried to begin a life with me.
To understand the scope of this discovery, one needs to know the cultural context. To be a Korean unwed mother is a scarlet letter, and while it has lessened somewhat, the stigma still exists. Unwed mothers are ostracized from family, denied employment opportunities, and their children are bullied by peers for not having a father. At present, the Korean government provides the equivalent of $167/mo, but only if the mother meets certain requirements. Single mothers are so devalued that government aid for domestic adoption (another social blemish in Korean society) is double the amount single moms receive. Birth fathers rarely offer financial assistance. Read more about unwed Korean mothers here and here.
I assume that logically, this stigma was far more pronounced when I was born in the late 70s. While she hasn't expounded on the details of those first months of my life, I can somewhat piece together her experiences while she and my birth father made the effort to become a family with me.
That their attempt even existed is a beacon, illuminating so many dark spaces.
Armed with this new knowledge, returning to Dongdaemun was both painful and healing. I can't imagine what it was like for Omma. She hadn't returned to Dongdaemun for a very long time.
As we emerged from the subway station onto a busy sidewalk, Omma's head swiveled, looking up and all around, searching for remnants of recognition. It was mesmerizing to watch as her mind worked to mesh the current landscape with that of her past. Eyes alight with curiosity, her index finger alternated from pinpointing landmarks to landing gently on her mouth to consider her memories. Omma spoke intermittently with each spark of realization. With a kind smile, Miri translated, "[Omma] is remembering." People around us walked, consumed, got on with their lives. But for us, this was sacred.
As Omma observed Dongdaemun's altered landscape, this is what I saw. I wondered how far we were from the home we three shared.
So much of Dongdaemun had changed that it would take much longer than our limited time to return to the place where we lived when I was a baby, so we played tourist instead. I hope to find it one day.
Omma insisted on taking me shopping, so off to one of Dongdaemun's many, MANY shopping malls we went.
We were there during daytime, so this isn't an accurate representation of what I saw, but this is picture gives the towering malls some scale. For such a small peninsula (compared to the U.S., at least) Koreans sure do love buying stuff. Where does it all go?
We entered what, at first glance appeared to be a Dillards-type of store, but as Peter observed, it was actually more like an upscale flea market. Omma bought me some clothes, and Peter bought his sisters a few tops.
An actual shirt from the store we went to. I'm pretty in love with it.
"Big Size" is the Korean interpretation of Plus Size. As you might imagine, it's more like a size 12 - 14 by American standards.
After shopping, we continued walking. It was still rainy, so the weather didn't make for pleasant photo opps, but I'm happy to report that we did stop for a few pictures over the Cheonggyecheon, a famous river park that is often visited by families and couples.
The Cheonggyecheon feeds into the Han River, Seoul's main, vast waterway. I wish we'd had time to check it out more.
We entered the Dongdaemun Design Plaza (DDP), a famous silver structure that houses art and. . . well, we didn't quite make it that far, but from what the internet has told me, it's pretty cool. We only got to the incredibly overpriced coffee shop just inside. But a cool-down was necessary.
Again, not my picture: https://structurae.net/photos/227730-dongdaemun-design-plaza
The DDP is so large that we didn't even make it to the side closest to the photographer in this image. From this vantage point, we entered from the upper-left corner. Just across the street, the large blocky grey building with the big pink sign was the mall where Omma shopped for me. The grey skies here are a more accurate depiction of what we experienced that day.
At the coffee shop inside the DDP, Peter taught Miri about Papago, the translation app I'd been using to communicate with Omma. In turn, Miri excitedly taught Omma how to use it. (Well, reviewed, actually, since Cindy had also showed Omma how to use it a few days prior.) I sat close to Omma as she became a more confident Papago user. Of the translation apps we (Participants who reunited with birth family) used during the Tour, Papago seemed to be the most reliable. Translation apps are no replacement for human interpreters, but it does the job for basics. Download it free here for your iPhone.
At this point, it was nearly time for Omma to leave, as she had to work later that evening. We walked back to the subway station.
There, underneath a map of Dongdaemun, we hugged. Miri pointed at the map and said, "You're saying, 'Goodbye' in the last place you were together a long time ago." I was fine until she said that. Again, higher order brain functions took a backseat and sorrow that didn't exist until a few days prior forced itself out. The loss of reason and control in these situations, I have found, is both fearsome and liberating. Peter later told me that he had to look away. I remember glancing at Miri, who wiped away her own tears.
We went through the turnstiles and this time, truly separated. We watched each other walk in our opposite directions, she, waving me onward with an "it's going to be OK" smile that I've seen on my mom's face, and I. . . I really don't remember what I was doing.
How poignant that we should part ways in Dongdaemun, where we were last a family.
We said our goodbyes at the Dongdaemun subway station. As we waited for our train on the platform, I remember taking this picture in the hopes that it would lead me back. I don't want to forget. I hoped Omma would be OK navigating back to her car.
Omma and I walk in Dongdaemun.
Thank you, Peter, for both taking and sending me this picture.
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