Home
June 19, 2018
7:30 am
David and I leave for the airport. I have hugged and kissed Owen more times than he can bear, but he relents.
TSA check in is very quick and smooth. I'm nervous. I forget there's a camera in my backpack and try to take it out as the container rolls toward the scanner. The TSA staff wave it off, "That's OK." The Muslim woman in front of me gets pulled aside. I am sure to "Ma'am" and "Sir" everyone I encounter.
The flood of texts from friends and family take my mind off my nerves. They make me laugh.
9:43
The plane is airborne. The trees, the light, the white crane strolling casually on the landing strip make me think of home. The next time I see home, I'll have many more thoughts in my head.
Home is where I feel safe, loved, familiar. Where I can freely give and receive love. It is comfort, belonging, and feeling full. It is safety in the routine monotony of doing dishes, moving through the spaces around me with the ease of muscle memory, sharing secrets and affection readily, uninhibited by questions because you have none. It is knowing and being known.
I think of the story I read to our son when he was smaller, Are You My Mother? Is Mother home?
A Likert scale forms in my mind. Jacksonville is home. David and Owen are home. St. Louis is home. My small circle of friends is home. The school where I teach is home.
I think I want it to be, but if it's not, how will that feel? Can that feeling, that in-betweenness, be home?
The flight to Atlanta from Jacksonville is brief and uneventful, save for my clearly audible feelings.
The older woman seated next to me, who makes the sign of the cross upon both lift off and landing before clasping her hands in prayer, asks with kind concern if I have a summer cold, due to my sniffles.
"No, this is an emotional trip. I am returning to Korea for the first time in 40 years."
I cry. In front of this sweet stranger.
"Oh, well I'm sure your family is so happy for you."
While she didn't mean it the way I took it, she's right. And that sense of fullness is home.
Oddly, the flight from Atlanta to Incheon/Seoul is far less emotionally taxing, and instead, it is physically draining. I always wonder why travel is so hard on the body when most of the time, you're not doing much but just sitting there.
The Korean Air flight attendants are so strangely perfect, their flawless complexions and hair make me feel unworthy. The food is as good as the the Yelp reviews said. I watch a movie and nearly finish reading All American Boys.
The airport is much smaller and less crowded than I expected. I wait in lines to show the Important People that I am not a danger to the Land of the Morning Calm, and then meet up with two sweet KAD sisters who are also on the tour. During the hour-long cab ride to the hotel, we remark on the landscape and architecture, and I find comfort in the familiarity of the passing views from my cab window. It doesn't really look all that foreign to me.
The hotel room is comfortable, clean, and compact. In an homage to Lucille Ball, it takes me 10 exhausting minutes to figure out how to turn on the lights. Don't even ask about the toilet buttons. On the potty is not where I want to do any experimenting.
7:30 am
David and I leave for the airport. I have hugged and kissed Owen more times than he can bear, but he relents.
TSA check in is very quick and smooth. I'm nervous. I forget there's a camera in my backpack and try to take it out as the container rolls toward the scanner. The TSA staff wave it off, "That's OK." The Muslim woman in front of me gets pulled aside. I am sure to "Ma'am" and "Sir" everyone I encounter.
The flood of texts from friends and family take my mind off my nerves. They make me laugh.
9:43
The plane is airborne. The trees, the light, the white crane strolling casually on the landing strip make me think of home. The next time I see home, I'll have many more thoughts in my head.
Where is my home?
Home is where I feel safe, loved, familiar. Where I can freely give and receive love. It is comfort, belonging, and feeling full. It is safety in the routine monotony of doing dishes, moving through the spaces around me with the ease of muscle memory, sharing secrets and affection readily, uninhibited by questions because you have none. It is knowing and being known.
I think of the story I read to our son when he was smaller, Are You My Mother? Is Mother home?
A Likert scale forms in my mind. Jacksonville is home. David and Owen are home. St. Louis is home. My small circle of friends is home. The school where I teach is home.
Will Korea be home?
I think I want it to be, but if it's not, how will that feel? Can that feeling, that in-betweenness, be home?
The flight to Atlanta from Jacksonville is brief and uneventful, save for my clearly audible feelings.
The older woman seated next to me, who makes the sign of the cross upon both lift off and landing before clasping her hands in prayer, asks with kind concern if I have a summer cold, due to my sniffles.
"No, this is an emotional trip. I am returning to Korea for the first time in 40 years."
I cry. In front of this sweet stranger.
"Oh, well I'm sure your family is so happy for you."
While she didn't mean it the way I took it, she's right. And that sense of fullness is home.
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| Atlanta. This is it. |
Oddly, the flight from Atlanta to Incheon/Seoul is far less emotionally taxing, and instead, it is physically draining. I always wonder why travel is so hard on the body when most of the time, you're not doing much but just sitting there.
The Korean Air flight attendants are so strangely perfect, their flawless complexions and hair make me feel unworthy. The food is as good as the the Yelp reviews said. I watch a movie and nearly finish reading All American Boys.
 |
| My bibimbap. Notice the real metal utensils. |
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| My first view of Korea. The misty mountain isles rising out of the ocean are beautiful. |
The airport is much smaller and less crowded than I expected. I wait in lines to show the Important People that I am not a danger to the Land of the Morning Calm, and then meet up with two sweet KAD sisters who are also on the tour. During the hour-long cab ride to the hotel, we remark on the landscape and architecture, and I find comfort in the familiarity of the passing views from my cab window. It doesn't really look all that foreign to me.
 |
| Written English is nearly everywhere. |
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| Lots of water and bridges, not unlike what I'm accustomed to in Jacksonville. This is one of my first views of Seoul, at least, I think. . . ? |
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| I'm staying at the Ibis Insadong. |
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| The toilet seat is heated and beeps when you sit on it. |
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| Even through my filmy hotel window, the charm of Insadong, my hotel's neighborhood, is so apparent. |
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| A coffee and beer place in Insadong with indoor and outdoor seating. Like everything in this neighborhood, its charm factor is off the charts. The handful of us with birth family reunions met here on Wednesday night to get prepped on what to expect. I meet my eomma tomorrow. |
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