Retrieving memories 

My first impression of the US was the noisy pool of people at the O’Hare International Airport. There were so many people who did not look like me. My sister and I were holding on to our mom’s hands as we penetrated the crowd in a hyper alert manner to find our designated connecting plane to Rochester, NY. We were on our way to my aunt’s house to study abroad in hopes of achieving a better future. Despite the fact that we were fourteen and sixteen years old, my sister and I felt incapable of navigating the airport or remembering any of the English we learned back in Korea. None of us could speak English. If our mother had not shown her bravery to get food for us, using her fingers to point and spread out cash on the counter for the cashier to collect exact change, we would have starved for the day. She got us two ham sandwiches and a bag of cheese puffs. The ham sandwich was awfully salty and the puffs had a foul smell that was very different from cheese in Korea. I could not finish the food and sat there watching all the people bustling with so many things I could not understand. I remember how my body felt tense and shaky from being nervous. 

The winter of 1998 was brutally cold. It was the first time I was separated from my mom who had to go back to Korea after we settled down with my aunt. My aunt and her family tried to provide support and care but it was not the same. My sister and I attended Greece Athena High School in Rochester, NY, which reflected the white majority neighborhood demographic. Out of the 330 students who graduated with me in 2002, there were less than twenty students of color and only three Korean students—including myself. The school had all white teachers and one Black security guard. I tried so hard to fit in, to dress like them, eat like them, and laugh like them. The cultural barrier was challenging and the racial stereotypes were bitter. I encountered finger pointing from strangers whispering “Chinese” to each other and mimicking my eyes by stretching their eyes narrow. There was a person who approached me at school and asked me why my people eat cats. I still tremble from the memories of feeling pent-up and wanting to explain that is not true. I wish that I had spoken better English so that I could defend my culture, but that was not possible then. English was my weakness and I tried to cover that up by overachieving in homework projects and artmaking. I forced myself to continuously exert my potential to prove my worth in order to survive. 

I felt like I had to present myself as worthy and manifest that I am not the so-called ‘other’ by serving the interests of school friends. I did not eat kimchi during the weekdays which could have exuded an “offensive” smell and enjoyed my favorite K-pop music only inside the house. When I started to hang out with a few Korean friends, I felt an instant relief and free from all the limitations. The sense of being understood without any explanation felt like I had been pulled out from underwater. The Korean community in Rochester provided a safe space for me and I relied on those connections for mental support. Daily struggles began to feel bearable after learning that there was a place I could return to to heal. The Korean national ethos relies on the idea of togetherness. The majority of the population in Korea do not call what one owns “mine,” instead we call it “our home,” “our mother,” and “our baby.” Korea is overwhelmingly ethnically homogenous with over 96% of all Koreans sharing the same Korean ethnicity. “This common identity provides societal unity and also supports the collectivist orientations of the culture” (Cultural Atlas, 2016). The unique way of Korean togetherness was recorded during the 2007 South Korea oil spill disaster. On December 7, 2007, a collision on a crude carrier caused the worst oil spill in the history of South Korea. It was predicted to leave permanent damage on the contaminated beaches and sea farms. Then a swarm of volunteers from every part of the country started to help to clean up the beaches. By January 2008, an average of 20,000 people had volunteered during weekdays and 3,000 volunteered over the weekends. Approximately 4,153 tons of the crude oil spilled had been collected by utilizing some 268,710 kilograms of oil absorbents and other cleanup devices (Park, 2008). Additionally, there was a gold collection campaign in 1998 which Forbes magazine described as “one of the most moving shows of patriotism and self-sacrifice the world has ever known” (Holmes, 2016). The South Korean government came precipitously close to bankruptcy with a $304 billion debt to the International Monetary Fund. With nonperforming loans, banks collapsed and hundreds of thousands of people lost their jobs, causing the “IMF Crisis” in early 1998. The South Korean government initiated the nationwide gold collecting campaign in effort to tackle its debt. In as little as two months, about 226 metric tons of gold from 3.5 million voluntary people were collected. Through the collection, the government was able to overcome a foreign exchange crisis and save the country (Holmes, 2016). We Koreans have a sense of watching each other's backs and having a sense of alliance. Being away from this neighborly feeling of togetherness caused me to question who belonged in my circle of “us” while living in the US and which country I referred to when saying “our country.” 

After moving to the Chicago suburbs in 2010, my oldest son attended Glenview Park District preschool which provided only a couple of hours of care in the morning. It had the lowest tuition in the town and was the most affordable choice at the time. My children and I spent the rest of the day after preschool in playgrounds whenever the weather was nice. I met some Korean moms at the preschool and the playgrounds and started to spend time together through playdates. Since the moms and I could not afford the tuition for all-day daycare, we regularly arranged playtime for the children to spend the day together. As much as the children loved new friendships, the moms and I enjoyed our time together chatting about everyday life using our native language. When I talked in my native language, my feelings and thoughts become more honest as I could express my emotions more accurately using Korean vocabularies. I did not get a chance to explain my personal struggles in English to anyone at that time but I knew instantly it would not be the same. While I precisely described the struggle I faced at that time to other moms, I did not feel ashamed of sharing too much private information. Explicitly sharing my experiences in Korean gave me a sense of happiness and relief. I felt support from other moms who listened attentively during our engaged conversations. My daily life was recognized and cherished as it was, without compromise. The amazing aid of listening and talking in a supportive way helped ease my emotions. I believe as the group, we all felt the same way. After the moms shared our life stories, I learned common struggles the moms faced daily, due to language barriers and cultural differences. 

The moms needed help to translate email communications from their children’s school and their landlords. They also did not understand the school traditions, such as homecoming or prom, which did not exist in Korea. The moms also had friends who worked full time at restaurants and nail salons, and those moms did not have time to get involved in school activities or address personal struggles. Many moms repeatedly reminded their children to be good listeners and good students by following rules. The moms worried about possible situations their children may find themselves in. They were well aware of their powerlessness and lack of resources; many were afraid of the possibility of not being able to rescue their children in those circumstances. Families who were in the process of obtaining legal status as American citizens, which could take years, were always on alert around the police even though they did nothing wrong. For them, being cautious in public space was a form of necessity. They had to make sure what is allowed and what is prohibited when they are out. I once saw a Korean mother read park signage before entering a park. The signage stated “no fishing” or “no skateboarding” which no other visitors paid attention to. For the mother, a simple park visit needed a step to question their eligibility. These experiences made me sad, as the families paid taxes and worked hard but just did not have the right papers or language skills to easily navigate day to day life in the US. I could not ignore their burden knowing the pain of what I went through myself. I wanted the families and moms to have the life-saving relief that the Rochester Korean community brought to me. With my better English skills and lived experience, I began to support the moms. I wrote emails to their children’s teachers and made phone calls to their landlords to request maintenance. My motivation to support and connect with the moms impacted my art practice, which led to creating a space where the moms feel they belong.