Meaningful Place
Day 9 of the Mosaic Tour
Birth Mother Meeting | #2
This was another day when the tour schedule and mine diverged. Today was "Meaningful Place" day, when many of my peers went to visit the clinic where they were born, the place they were abandoned, the neighborhood where they first lived, a place where we could grieve our loss of culture and birthplace. . .
Since I had already been reunited with my omma, she was my "Meaningful Place."
I was nervous. Not so much because I'd be meeting her again, but because the expectation was that I'd take the subway to a midway point, then my volunteer translator would drive me the rest of the way to her house. Navigation has never been my strong suit, and I was pretty uncomfortable with the thought of taking the subway by myself.
Thank goodness for Joe.
Joe was the staff member who initially contacted me way back in February to inform me that I was accepted on the Mosaic Tour, that I'd be returning to my birthplace after 40 years. I will always think of him as a brother. An incredibly goofy, sometimes-inappropriate, but always compassionate brother.
He was the first person to ask, in reference to rekindling my connection to Korea, "How are you feeling?" I cried that day on the phone. Just that question was enough to know that he got it.
Minyoung and I happened upon Joe in the hotel lobby minutes before I had to leave. I have no idea what he was doing, but I mentioned to Minyoung that I was anxious to travel alone, and when I said, "I just saw Joe, can he come with me?" she said, "Why not?" That made me laugh.
His attitude was the same as hers. He seemed unaffected by the idea of abruptly dropping whatever he was doing to escort my helpless ass to my halfway point. It was a good thing, too, because even though the route involved 0 transfers, there were some mechanical snafus that made us have to switch trains twice.
Also, the jokes about Mom's Touch chicken will be, for better or worse, indelibly etched into my memory. Joe, if you're reading this, know that Mom's Touch made me so happy that day. :D
During our subway ride, Joe and I discussed Korean mores. "Koreans take pride in the fact that they are rule-following, law-abiding citizens. If you dropped your wallet in the subway, it would be normal for a Korean to run up to you through the crowd to return it. Contents untouched."
Minutes after this was explained to me, I dropped my T-Money card in the subway station. And sure enough, a stranger called after me to return it.
I have a very hard time reconciling this kind of Korean with the fact that they're also OK with sending hundreds of thousands of their babies out of the country to be raised by complete strangers. For a profit. How can these be the same people? How do these values coexist? It was explained to me that, since we were never added to our family registries, (the formal Korean documents that track our patrilineal heritage, sometimes going back centuries) we were never considered real people, so it was more acceptable to send us away.
After emerging from the subway, Joe and I waited for my volunteer translator, Cindy.
As we ride in her car to my birth mother's home in Dongducheon, about an hour outside of Seoul, we talk about her background and how she became connected with Minyoung.
"Minyoung?" It took a minute for her to figure out who I was referencing.
Cindy, who raised her sons in San Francisco for 24 years, had returned to Korea within the last year to spend time with her mother and sister. Upon discovering that she wasn't tight with Minyoung, I felt even more profoundly grateful for her time. After thanking her about three times, she put her hand on mine and said,
Just one more angel on my path.
During the drive, she talked on the phone with my omma intermittently to keep her apprised of our location and estimated time of arrival to our meeting place. I spied Omma and Imo (my aunt, her older sister who was present for my birth and helped care for me as a baby) in Omma's car just across the street from our meeting place. I was thankful that I recognized her after only one meeting.
Cindy followed her to Omma's home. Imo got out of the car, tearfully approaching me and crying something out in Korean. There were hugs and some cheek rubs. I asked Cindy what she was saying. It was something like, "It's been so long."
After ascending two flights of stairs, we entered Omma's home. It was a smallish, one-bedroom. The bathroom included an Asian-styled shower in the middle of the room, indicated by only a drain hole on the floor next to the toilet. It was a comfortable space, and she quickly set to make us all iced coffees.
I asked to see family pictures. She got out her wedding album, which was, from the looks of it, from the 80s. She wore a Western-styled white dress, and her husband wore something that was a cross between a military uniform and a Western suit. The older family members in the front row wore hanbok, and Imo wore a Western dress. For the first time, I saw the faces of all five of my omma's siblings and her parents. No one smiled in this photo, which I learned later, is just another Korean thing.
His brown, lined face stirred within me newly-formed emotions that hadn't yet settled, since only days prior had I become aware of his involvement in my early life.
The tears that erupted were violent and unexpected. I wept, deep and hard, mourning the relationship we never had, the one that was severed so abruptly. Did he grieve, too? How did my name sound on his lips when he spoke to me? I wish I could remember.
I can't show the pictures here, as she hasn't yet told her other children about me completely. But I will say that even though I am biased, Omma was so beautiful on her wedding day.
We went to Arirang Restaurant for a Korean barbecue lunch. Clean and contemporary, large but somehow still cozy, and a pleasant mixture of East and West, its newness contrasted noticeably with most of the restaurants I'd enjoyed so far.
The food was wonderful. Omma paid for all four of us, my offers to chip in waved away as if my won were a buzzing gnat.
Omma drove us to Imo's restaurant, which was closed for the day, so we had it all to ourselves. It was a cozy place with about six tables that was more in tune with the sort of restaurants our group tended to frequent. We were served freshly-cut fruit and more iced coffee. We chatted a bit. I found out that of her three children, I am the only one who, like her, enjoys performing.
She wanted to shop for me, so off to Lotte Mart we went. Lotte Mart is sort of like Super Target. You can buy everything from watermelon to washing machines there. I shopped for family gifts to take back home, and she bought gifts for Owen and I.
Our next destination was my favorite of the day: Soyosan Mountain.
Omma was funny. As we walked along the water's edge, she said, "There sure are a lot of old people here!" and "These old guys are looking for a girlfriend." There was a mineral spring near the entrance with a blue plastic communal drinking cup nearby, and as you might have already guessed, she filled it and handed it to me. I took a sip, but she motioned for me to continue, so down the hatch it went. Like most things older Korean women feed you, this water was very "healthy". She got us all ice creams, and Cindy got us a bag of hot corn (???) which kind of made me laugh. If you've been keeping track, at this point, I've officially been fed at least 82,000 pounds of food and drink, and it wasn't even 3:00 pm yet.
We walked the forested trail to a nearby restaurant's outdoor seating area. Omma greeted the proprietor, asking how business was going. She told him that I was her daughter. It made me feel good that here, at least, I didn't have to be a secret.
The park was lush and green, cooled by shade trees and a mountain creek running over a rocky bed. Some people snoozed in tents along the creek's edge, while others kept cool by squatting ankle-deep on their chosen rock in the creek. Imo, speaking to no one in particular, began taking off her shoes and making her descent into the water.
The rest of us followed suit. The creek reminded me of the Courtois, but colder, like a Florida spring. I yelped when my bare feet touched the water. It was a wonder how these women, decades older than me, were able to so deftly traverse the pointy, slippery rocks.
At this point, it was nearly time for me to leave, as we had dinner and a group session on the Tour schedule. We got back into Omma's car and returned to her home, where Cindy's car was parked.
Much of the hour-long ride back to the hotel was quiet. My mind worked hard to restrain my mouth, which really wanted to say, "Thank you!" to Cindy repeatedly. Not only had she spent an entire day helpingstrangers her fellow Koreans recover our lost connection, but she also drove me all the way to my hotel's front door despite Seoul's insane rush hour traffic, no less. Yet another gift I can never repay. She told me more about her family, which gave me more insight into why she would be inclined to help adoptees. Sweet Cindy comes from a family of strong women.
I will remember this day for a long time.
Birth Mother Meeting | #2
Friday, 6.29
This was another day when the tour schedule and mine diverged. Today was "Meaningful Place" day, when many of my peers went to visit the clinic where they were born, the place they were abandoned, the neighborhood where they first lived, a place where we could grieve our loss of culture and birthplace. . .
Since I had already been reunited with my omma, she was my "Meaningful Place."
I was nervous. Not so much because I'd be meeting her again, but because the expectation was that I'd take the subway to a midway point, then my volunteer translator would drive me the rest of the way to her house. Navigation has never been my strong suit, and I was pretty uncomfortable with the thought of taking the subway by myself.
 |
| My blood pressure. I can't even. |
Thank goodness for Joe.
 |
| This is Joe's good side. |
Joe was the staff member who initially contacted me way back in February to inform me that I was accepted on the Mosaic Tour, that I'd be returning to my birthplace after 40 years. I will always think of him as a brother. An incredibly goofy, sometimes-inappropriate, but always compassionate brother.
He was the first person to ask, in reference to rekindling my connection to Korea, "How are you feeling?" I cried that day on the phone. Just that question was enough to know that he got it.
Minyoung and I happened upon Joe in the hotel lobby minutes before I had to leave. I have no idea what he was doing, but I mentioned to Minyoung that I was anxious to travel alone, and when I said, "I just saw Joe, can he come with me?" she said, "Why not?" That made me laugh.
His attitude was the same as hers. He seemed unaffected by the idea of abruptly dropping whatever he was doing to escort my helpless ass to my halfway point. It was a good thing, too, because even though the route involved 0 transfers, there were some mechanical snafus that made us have to switch trains twice.
Also, the jokes about Mom's Touch chicken will be, for better or worse, indelibly etched into my memory. Joe, if you're reading this, know that Mom's Touch made me so happy that day. :D
 |
| Next time I go to Korea, I'll be sure to check out Mom's Touch. |
During our subway ride, Joe and I discussed Korean mores. "Koreans take pride in the fact that they are rule-following, law-abiding citizens. If you dropped your wallet in the subway, it would be normal for a Korean to run up to you through the crowd to return it. Contents untouched."
Minutes after this was explained to me, I dropped my T-Money card in the subway station. And sure enough, a stranger called after me to return it.
 |
| T-money cards come in a wide range of styles. This one features Ryan, a Kakao Friend. Perhaps the best Kakao friend. Photo credit: http://bloomestimes.blogspot.com/2016/12/seoul-travel-tips-getting-around-on_31.html |
I have a very hard time reconciling this kind of Korean with the fact that they're also OK with sending hundreds of thousands of their babies out of the country to be raised by complete strangers. For a profit. How can these be the same people? How do these values coexist? It was explained to me that, since we were never added to our family registries, (the formal Korean documents that track our patrilineal heritage, sometimes going back centuries) we were never considered real people, so it was more acceptable to send us away.
After emerging from the subway, Joe and I waited for my volunteer translator, Cindy.
As we ride in her car to my birth mother's home in Dongducheon, about an hour outside of Seoul, we talk about her background and how she became connected with Minyoung.
"Minyoung?" It took a minute for her to figure out who I was referencing.
Cindy, who raised her sons in San Francisco for 24 years, had returned to Korea within the last year to spend time with her mother and sister. Upon discovering that she wasn't tight with Minyoung, I felt even more profoundly grateful for her time. After thanking her about three times, she put her hand on mine and said,
"You will stop thanking me. I am Korean. You are Korean. I love my people. No more thanking me."
Just one more angel on my path.
 |
| As we drove to my omma's home in Dongducheon, I recall seeing this huge station. Documented here so I can remember for future visits. Photo credit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jihaeng_station |
During the drive, she talked on the phone with my omma intermittently to keep her apprised of our location and estimated time of arrival to our meeting place. I spied Omma and Imo (my aunt, her older sister who was present for my birth and helped care for me as a baby) in Omma's car just across the street from our meeting place. I was thankful that I recognized her after only one meeting.
Cindy followed her to Omma's home. Imo got out of the car, tearfully approaching me and crying something out in Korean. There were hugs and some cheek rubs. I asked Cindy what she was saying. It was something like, "It's been so long."
After ascending two flights of stairs, we entered Omma's home. It was a smallish, one-bedroom. The bathroom included an Asian-styled shower in the middle of the room, indicated by only a drain hole on the floor next to the toilet. It was a comfortable space, and she quickly set to make us all iced coffees.
I asked to see family pictures. She got out her wedding album, which was, from the looks of it, from the 80s. She wore a Western-styled white dress, and her husband wore something that was a cross between a military uniform and a Western suit. The older family members in the front row wore hanbok, and Imo wore a Western dress. For the first time, I saw the faces of all five of my omma's siblings and her parents. No one smiled in this photo, which I learned later, is just another Korean thing.
Omma pointed out her father's face. I studied it, and in this snapshot of a second, the expression captured was a reflection of deep joy for his daughter mingled with Korean stoicism.
His brown, lined face stirred within me newly-formed emotions that hadn't yet settled, since only days prior had I become aware of his involvement in my early life.
It was he who gave me a name, who played, fed, and comforted me when I was fresh and new.
The tears that erupted were violent and unexpected. I wept, deep and hard, mourning the relationship we never had, the one that was severed so abruptly. Did he grieve, too? How did my name sound on his lips when he spoke to me? I wish I could remember.
I can't show the pictures here, as she hasn't yet told her other children about me completely. But I will say that even though I am biased, Omma was so beautiful on her wedding day.
We went to Arirang Restaurant for a Korean barbecue lunch. Clean and contemporary, large but somehow still cozy, and a pleasant mixture of East and West, its newness contrasted noticeably with most of the restaurants I'd enjoyed so far.
 |
| The outside. There were three Arirang restaurants within walking distance of each other. We later found out it was family-owned, despite its sleek shininess. This was the medium-sized Arirang of the three. Photo credit: http://arirangmeat.fordining.kr/?doc=sub_06 |
 |
| I mentioned to Cindy that it felt a little like a Korean Applebee's, but tastier. Photo credit: http://arirangmeat.fordining.kr/?doc=sub_06 |
The food was wonderful. Omma paid for all four of us, my offers to chip in waved away as if my won were a buzzing gnat.
Omma drove us to Imo's restaurant, which was closed for the day, so we had it all to ourselves. It was a cozy place with about six tables that was more in tune with the sort of restaurants our group tended to frequent. We were served freshly-cut fruit and more iced coffee. We chatted a bit. I found out that of her three children, I am the only one who, like her, enjoys performing.
She wanted to shop for me, so off to Lotte Mart we went. Lotte Mart is sort of like Super Target. You can buy everything from watermelon to washing machines there. I shopped for family gifts to take back home, and she bought gifts for Owen and I.
 |
| The Lotte Mart we visited didn't look exactly like this, but it was multi-level. Photo credit: https://company.lottemart.com/eng/?SITELOC=DG004 |
Our next destination was my favorite of the day: Soyosan Mountain.
 |
| Looks pretty much like any other national park entrance, except that just to the right of the frame, about 40 feet into the woods are restaurants and noraebang. YES. MY PEOPLE. DOING KARAOKE IN THE FOREST. Photo credit: http://english.visitkorea.or.kr/enu/ATR/SI_EN_3_1_1_1.jsp?cid=1963055 |
Omma was funny. As we walked along the water's edge, she said, "There sure are a lot of old people here!" and "These old guys are looking for a girlfriend." There was a mineral spring near the entrance with a blue plastic communal drinking cup nearby, and as you might have already guessed, she filled it and handed it to me. I took a sip, but she motioned for me to continue, so down the hatch it went. Like most things older Korean women feed you, this water was very "healthy". She got us all ice creams, and Cindy got us a bag of hot corn (???) which kind of made me laugh. If you've been keeping track, at this point, I've officially been fed at least 82,000 pounds of food and drink, and it wasn't even 3:00 pm yet.
 |
| Koreans love corn all the time, in so many situations. |
We walked the forested trail to a nearby restaurant's outdoor seating area. Omma greeted the proprietor, asking how business was going. She told him that I was her daughter. It made me feel good that here, at least, I didn't have to be a secret.
The park was lush and green, cooled by shade trees and a mountain creek running over a rocky bed. Some people snoozed in tents along the creek's edge, while others kept cool by squatting ankle-deep on their chosen rock in the creek. Imo, speaking to no one in particular, began taking off her shoes and making her descent into the water.
 |
| I have pictures of the three of us in front of this gourd statue. It is near here that we walked around in the water. Photo credit: https://english.visitkorea.or.kr:1001/enu/SI/SI_EN_3_1_1_1.jsp?cid=1963055&nearBy=site& |
At this point, it was nearly time for me to leave, as we had dinner and a group session on the Tour schedule. We got back into Omma's car and returned to her home, where Cindy's car was parked.
Much of the hour-long ride back to the hotel was quiet. My mind worked hard to restrain my mouth, which really wanted to say, "Thank you!" to Cindy repeatedly. Not only had she spent an entire day helping
I will remember this day for a long time.
Comments
Post a Comment
Comments are awesome. Write some.