The Update

It’s official.  I am going to LA in approximately one week.  Yes, it will have been over two months since my job in Fort Worth ended, and yes, I think I am finally ready for this “vacation” to come to a close.  The time off has undoubtedly been nice.  Due to my job title of “travel nurse” I made it a goal to only work 9 months out of the year, and it appears I am on track for making that quickly become a reality.  (Perhaps a little too on track).  Maybe I should just become a teacher.  That way I’d be guaranteed the time off without really having to think or plan it.  Hmmm….

I prefer to not endorse the option of viewing myself as lazy.  I have tried to work several times at my per diem agency, but it appears that I am just not needed.  In a way this is disappointing  and in a way it really is not.  When I do schedule myself to work I must get up at 4:45 am to call and see if I’ve been canceled.  This means going to bed early, preferably before 10 pm, and having all of my “nurse things” ready the night before so that I can jet out the door quickly.  It also means that I may not be working at the hospital that I originally said I’d go to.  Example:  Overlake says they don’t need me so my agency calls Valley to see if I’m needed there.  So extra time in the morning is good because there is always the possibility of getting lost, not knowing where to park, getting disoriented coming out of an elevator and heading in the wrong direction, etc.  In Fort Worth it took me weeks to understand the hospital’s layout.  I can’t believe I use to brag that I had a good sense of direction.  Being so reliant on GPS totally screwed with my inherent ability to problem solve.  Now I just turn and walk and pray that I arrive at my destination. 

I have to admit, when I make that 4:45 am phone call I secretly hope that my services are not needed.  I feel that if I ask to be scheduled and put in the effort of getting ready for work I should not feel guilty for another day of daytime TV, leisurely coffee drinking, online chatting, happy hour, and evening (or afternoon) wine drinking.  I only wish some sort of monetary value could accompany my efforts.  Too bad for that….

Los Angeles will be good though.  I want to go with no expectations (except for sunny weather of course).   I already have somewhat of a preconceived notion because I have visited throughout my life.  If my memory of reiterated moments by parents serves me right, I first went to Disneyland when I was less than one year old.  There have also been road trips with the family, a high school orchestra excursion, and visits to friends.  Texas was fun for me because I truly did not know what to expect.  I had never heard of Fort Worth, didn’t really understand the whole southern hospitality thing, and just recently realized how far Texas is from Seattle.  I’d go back, but am done with the long drives for now.  Basically I heart Texas and hope to heart LA and Cali as well.

We shall see….

Having Fun

I tend to be against journaling on my blog, but today I want to take a break from my more “focused” writing and give a brief update.  I’ve been back from Korea for exactly two weeks now.  The past 14 days have gone by quick, despite my not working and general “hanging out.”  I’m seriously loving it!  I could quite possibly not work another day in my life and be totally content.  Oh the thought of that sounds so glorious!  I visit about one to three coffee shops a day, plop myself at a table and write.  Yes, I am taking advantage of my unemployment or partial employment and returning to my first great passion, writing.  I don’t know why I took such a long hiatus.  Perhaps it was because I just didn’t know the direction I wanted my writing to take or even more scary, where it would lead me.  While in Texas I wrote occasionally, mostly so that people back in Seattle could get a tiny glimpse into the life that I felt lucky to be partaking in.  Now that I have returned from my fourth trip to Korea I feel that things in “Aimee’s world” are a bit more settled.  It was reaffirming for me to visit my homeland (where I have often felt degraded and of lesser status than the average Korean citizen) and still be able to retain a sense of self, despite the family drama that often goes hand in hand with my visits.  I have made it my New Year’s Resolution (I hardly ever make these, but suppose I should) to literally let my creative side flow.  That means, and I am hesitant to make this statement on a public page, rethinking and acting upon the act of memoir writing.  There I said it.  Yes, I would like to share some of what has been going on in my life since meeting my birth family.  It’s changed me and been such a significant part of my life.  Perhaps the most profound and solid example is changing my last name to what in my opinion is more fitting for who I am today.  So, on this rainy Seattle Saturday afternoon I again am at one of the three Tully’s that I frequent.  I am sitting across from a retired electrical engineer who is solving thermodynamic problems for fun.  Yes, for fun.  When I pulled out my laptop he spoke to me and asked what I was working on.  I was totally caught off guard as most coffee shop goers keep to themselves and their ipods, books, or computers.  My answer to his question:  “my writing.”  Short and to the point and 100% accurate. 

I don’t know when or if I will ever finish this work.  I started it about three years ago, but it has been in seclusion for nearly that long.  It could be that all this “work” will simply be for my own development and nurturing, but perhaps it won’t.  Maybe instead of dodging questions about my “roots”  and all it’s complications and bizarre facts you’ll be able to turn a page and consider for yourself what it means for me at least to be Korean, an adoptee, and also an American woman.

Jailed

December 20, 2008

This is ridiculous.  I am currently “locked” in my sister’s room while she has a friend over for coffee. 

I realize that having a sister who was sent to America and speaks practically no Korean is means for shame in this society, but come on, I’m a visitor in her home too, so why did she invite this friend in the first place?

I’m totally pissed. 

Basically she came in, told me she was having a friend over now, and pointed to the computer telling me that I could entertain myself on the Internet.  That’s fine, but then her daughter enters and shuts the door securely (which they never do in this home) and settles herself on the floor.  Grounds for disappointment, hurt, anger, etc?  Yes. 

And come on, I’m not five years old.  I’m an adult.  I remember times while growing up when my parents had guests and of course I was fine playing upstairs in my room by myself.  But I wasn’t secluded to a certain part of the house.  I was allowed to come out of my room to use the toilet, get a drink of water, or feed myself.  Apparently at the present time I must refrain from nourishment and excretion.  Which makes my thirst currently that much more annoying.

Perhaps the worst part of this scenario is that it is nearly impossible for me to convey my feelings to my sister.  First because of the language barrier, second due to the fact that our mindsets are vastly different.   I grew up being valued by my society.  I was not a “secret” or second class citizen.  When I come here people are confused as to why I speak little Korean.  Some people express pity if they know I am an adoptee, i.e. store-owners or taxi drivers offering me free goods.  On the subway when I am spoken to and say I do not understand (in Korean of course), phrases are uttered, and I do not need to be fluent to understand what is being said.  Usually something along the lines of “She comes from America and speaks little Korean,” complete with a downcast stare and shaking of the head.

On my first trip back this bothered me a lot.  However this being my fourth visit I am both prepared and also have a much stronger sense of self.  Unfortunately it’s a part of what adoptees encounter here.  What I was not prepared for was to have my sister behave in basically the same way.

My family has accepted me to a greater extent than that of other adoptees’ families.  There is a lot of good amongst my sisters, their husbands, and my mother.  Does the good outweigh the bad?  Not sure.  I do love them, however how much do I tolerate and at what point do I honestly and bluntly express my feelings while still extending respect and hoping for understanding?

January 5, 2008

This is just one aspect of Korea, their society, my history, their present.  Of course I hope that it will one day change, that there can be a greater awareness of social issues, that I will not have to hide my face and identity in my hometown.  Despite the fact that Korea can be very difficult for me due to these issues, it is where I originated, and in ways continues to be a part of me.  It is the home of my wonderful sisters (despite the above) and mother.  It’s a nation that because of my current mindset I can accept at face value, sift through the negative aspects, and enjoy what is positive.  It’s also a place that although when I visit am sometimes tempted to depart early, know that I will return to on many more occasions.

Mall Walker

During the last month none of my activities have had any resemblance to the pastime that we Americans consider exercise.  In Korea I ate, sat, ate more, and sat more.  Prior to that time I spent 35 plus hours behind the wheel of my car attempting and then succeeding at making it safely from Texas to Seattle.  This past week I’ve been to several malls, however never with the sole purpose of walking.  Today I laced up my running shoes, pulled on the track pants, and embarked on what many over the age of 60 typically do on a weekday morning-mall walk. 

At first I was a bit apprehensive about this venture.  But I figured I needed to move and since it’s been raining/snowing, and I haven’t gotten around to getting a gym membership, I had no choice, it was the mall or…begin to loose my mental sanity and become overweight.  I wanted neither.

My dad is in his early 60s.  I think he is a mall walker.  Once he mentioned to me that he felt a bit out of place due to the fact that most other mall walkers are say 70 plus.  “They go to the mall in groups and meet others there too.  Then they sit around and drink Seattle’s Best Coffee.”  I could tell he had issues with this, being that he does not want to consider himself part of this “crowd.”  I told him that there are worse things in life to be associated with.

If I am going to do something I don’t make a half-ass attempt.  Therefore I felt it a must that I bring along the ipod to listen to my tunes.  (I can’t exercise without music, it’s just too boring).  With the white earbuds everybody knew what I was doing.  Seriously, there was no question.  I did the upper level first, then the lower level.  Took less than 15 minutes.  I passed grandma and grandpa as well.  They were in their sweats, looking a bit like they had just rolled out of bed.  I had showered and even had makeup on, which if I had truly been exercising to my standards both would have been forgone.

After one round I was tired of passing by stores where the workers gaze out at you due to the lack of true shoppers in the hours before noon.  Plus I needed to kick it up a notch to burn a few calories and get a mental boost.  I decided to move it outside to the 40 degree weather.  Luckily it had stopped raining so I made my way around the mall 3 times, feeling about 10 times healthier due to uneven pavement, small inclines, and the roar of passing traffic.

I feel as though this was a very geriatrical, but proactive activity.  I have no shame, after all I am choosing to share my experience with other, probably non-geriatric people.  I’ve been doing a lot of sitting lately, and it’s starting to take it’s toll.  I’m not use to the inactivity.  Even at work I spend half my shift in the vertical position so today I could not resist the urge to migrate a distance that is further than the kitchen.

Status-post Korea

 

I recently returned from a 2 week trip to Korea.  In brief I spent time with the family, saw my mom, visited my hometown, and enjoyed the company of some other adoptees as well. 

Before I departed I felt that this trip, my 4th in a little under 3 years would seem more like a vacation and less like an epic Korean drama.  I was wrong.  There were no Korean winter equivalents of laying on a sandy beach with a fruity drink in hand.  Those tiny umbrellas seeming so nice….

Although Korea was no trip to the spa, it wasn’t all bad, and I am still glad I went.  What I wanted most, to see my mom, was granted.  And ever since it was promised to me, upon first meeting my mother, I’ve longed to visit the place where I would have grown up and to see my father’s grave.  At the last minute all this happened and became reality. 

What words can be offered regarding visiting the resting place of the man whose DNA is my own?  The person who I’ve been told I share many similarities and not just physical traits either.  Per my mother and sisters I have my father’s nose, his physique, his hands, and most interesting to me, his demeanor.  Like me he was somewhat quiet and spoke far fewer words than my mother.  He was calm and reserved.  Once while at the jimjilbang (sauna), my nephew pointed at my face and said, “Just like your father, no sweat.”  He was a well-controlled man.

When something is promised to you it is natural to cultivate a desire for it.  When something is promised, but then prohibited it is even more natural for it to evolve into a deep and intense longing.  That is in essence the history of my relationship to my hometown and father.  Changhung is a town of 20,000.  My family is known there, my brother’s status as an adoptee, and that of my existence is not.  My mother stated many times that she wished for me to visit, but unfortunately it was not possible.  I felt that my only option would be to go at a later time in my life and without my family’s knowledge.  I would have to sneak into my hometown, as a tourist, a visitor, as someone who had spent many years yearning to see the course her life could have taken. 

Ironically I did sneak back to my roots.  Arriving at 5:30 am, accompanied by my 26 year old brother and 26 year old nephew, the tiny car we rode in winded its way into Korea’s rural landscape.  While my brother drove my nephew turned his head in the passenger seat and said, “Now we are in Changhung.  Now we are in your hometown.”  I can’t remember my exact response, but I know it was not much more than a simple “ok.”  I felt a mixture of both excitement and sadness.  It was dark so I could barely make out most buildings.  Many of my sisters thought it best that I arrive before daylight so as not to be detected by my mother’s neighbors.  We drove by the gate to my mother’s house, the place where every sister grew up, the place where she walked with me in her womb.  It was closed, and I could not see in.  She was asleep, unseen on the other side, lying somewhere on the warm Korean floor.  I felt a twinge of defeat.  I was so close to attaining it all.  I wanted to go inside, eat my mother’s food, sit on her floor and then lie down to rest beside her.

Next we drove by the new home my mother is building with money given to her by all my sisters.  It is probably only 200 yards from the old house.  The church my mother attends every Sunday since the time of my father’s death is literally right across the dirt road.  The barn that shelters my mother’s 4 cows is in the front yard and towards the back, elevated on a small hill is my father’s gravesite.  With my nephew translating my brother’s short phrases I was able to attach meaning to the buildings I was seeing.  “Here is your mother’s church.  There is the place of your mother’s cows.”  We drove along the road directly in front of the newly laid foundation and then I heard “There is your father’s grave (pointing).  We can go no further because the road is closed.”  With it being nearly pitch black I could see nothing.  Again I felt like I had been robbed of first place and forced to settle for second.  I could feel tears begin to well behind my eyes and a sense of anger and frustration towards my brother and the situation as a whole once again creep into my bones.  “Can we walk?”  My brother and nephew exchange glances, but nothing is said.  The car turns around.  We head out the way we entered.  We are leaving.  I think, “They don’t want to say the word ‘no’ to me because they are aware it will make me cry.”  Then, a generous gesture is made and the car pulls alongside a building and is put in park.  The engine is turned off and we are getting out, going on foot to my father’s grave. 

I don’t know what to think or feel at this time, this being the extent of my awareness, ”I’m walking to the grave.  Should I be tearful, nervous, thankful, what?”  From the car we walk for approximately a minute, but what seems like much longer due to the darkness and silence of the early morning.  The cows moo at me, and I wonder if this is the same field they graze in, and if so, should I watch my step, however impossible that may be. 

I arrive at his grave.  My brother wants me to bow twice in traditional Korean fashion.  I do not know how to do this.  He tries explaining this to me in Korean, but I do not understand so he demonstrates.  Then it is my turn.  I go from standing to kneeling to having my face inches from the dirt all in honor of the man who chose to give me away.  When I am done I watch my nephew do the same.  At this point I find myself studying his technique and wondering if mine had the same resemblance, not yet acknowledging the immense space this event will hold in my heart.  We are now finished and my brother announces it is time to go.  I don’t feel like turning to leave quite yet.  I want to stay and stare longer at this mound of earth.  I want some thoughts, any thoughts, to come into my mind and in some way move me.  It doesn’t happen, but deep in my gut I know that this is and will be the highlight of my trip.  Even seeing my mother, a live person, cannot compare.  The two experiences are not of the same class.  Like mothers and fathers, their significance varies widely.  As I walk down the hill towards the car I am slightly amazed at having no anger or even bitterness towards this man.  If he was watching I am sure he saw beauty and peace in this scene.  His ninth daughter finally returned; his son, loved without hesitation as his own, standing side by side in full acknowledgement and respect for the life the other leads, surrounded by the sameness from which all has evolved.

 

Wanderer

It’s good to be back in this city, Seattle, my city…the place I still refer to as “home.”  Each time I use this word I am a little stunned.  My Seattle friends sometime give comments, stating, “So you still refer to this place as home huh?”  Well yeah, I do.  Although I liked Fort Worth, it definetely was not a place I would allow myself to permanently reside.  And at this point I do not know where my next temporary home will be.  Perhaps New York, perhaps California, or perhaps here, in the city that feels the most comfortable to me.

After having been gone for a short 4 months I now have a new appreciation for Seattle.  I felt that Dallas lacked the culture that I have grown accustomed to:  the art scene, music scene, coffee scene, and let’s not forget diversity.  Asian faces were not exactly a rarity, but not part of the norm either.  I’m now living on the east side, Bellevue, and there is an abundance of Asians here, that’s for sure.  I like being able to choose from several Japanese, Korean, Thai, and Chinese restaurants.  It’s no K-town, but it will do.  I only drove by one Asian supermarket in Texas, and I had made a point to do so. 

Currentlybeing without knowledge of where and when my next assignment will be leaves me plenty of time to read, write, think, and be amongst friends.  I am enjoying all of the above, however there is a small amount of anxiety that is building.  I’m sure I will be talking with my recruiter Matt on Monday and then will have a better idea of what is brewing.  If there are no good job options, i.e. locations that I would like to visit, then my plan is to stay here and work per diem with my other nursing agency.  Then when the right job opens I’ll again pack my car and head out of town.

There is a lot of freedom in this.  Two or three years ago this might have been too scary for me, a little too loose and unstructured.  Now I like it.  Being tied to one place would just not work.  No, I need options and the thrill of not knowing what is next.  It adds variety to my life.  It makes me feel like this is really my life and there are choices and an enormous amount of good things to come.  Anything less at this point would be settling, and those days, if they ever truly existed, are over. 

Living out of suitcases is fine for the time being.  Having about a 1/3 of my belongings in the trunk of my car is ok too.  Recently a friend asked me if I showered in my car as well.  It made me chuckle, and then half seriously consider if it was possible. 

It’s been a month since I left Texas.  I miss it.  This surprises most of my friends, but not me.  I strongly believe we should all be open to new experiences.  If I had gone to Texas with a negative attitude, thinking, “I’m going to hate it there, I won’t see another Asian, and I’m going to be referred to as ‘oriental’ (which I was),” then of course it would have been a horrible experience.  I met some great people down there and, after a short 3 months, felt like I was just beginning to get to know some of my fellow travelers.  It makes me sad.  Hopefully our paths will cross again and we’ll be able to offer our company at another drag show, martini bar, or vent about our drug seeking “friend” in room 630.