Kimchi Mamas

Umma

Later this month, I am taking a trip with my Mom, my Umma. We are going to a tropical island for five days. I am doing this voluntarily and it's not something that I thought I would ever do, especially in the last 20 years.

When I was five or six, my Mom left our family. I think she just packed up and left without telling anyone. I have no memories of the actual day when she left... just lots of memories of her absence. She had had enough of living with my alcoholic and abusive father and decided that she had to leave in order to survive. Even if that meant that she was going to live without her two daughters. She told me later that she cried for three days straight after she left.

So, for many years, my Mom was someone who visited. She would come secretly and tell one of our friends that she was here. The friend would somehow come find us and she would buy us fried chicken. Sometimes we stayed over at her apartment for a few days but she would be gone for work most of the time so me and my sister would have to find ways to entertain ourselves. I remember cleaning her house so that she would be proud of us. And drinking hot water mixed with the powdered creamer and sugar she kept by the telephone with the instant coffee.

When we immigrated to the States, she didn't come to the airport to say good-bye to us. I learned later that no one had told her we were leaving. My uncle apparently called her from the airport when he knew it would already be too late for her to come. If she was allowed to talk to us, I have no memory of it. I was ten years old so it would have stuck in my memory if we did. It would have been in one of those private telephone booths that are now extinct. I just remember being so excited to finally move to America. My Mom wasn't a big presence in my life by then so I don't even remember worrying about her or our relationship... or that I didn't get to say good-bye to her.

I don't know how many days she cried after that.

We kept in touch through letters. Hand written letters. Phone calls were expensive during the 90's. She kept every single letter we ever sent her and one day when I was on maternity leave and she was living with me, I sat down and read them all.

After graduating from high school, I went back to Korea for the first time to visit my Mom. The scene at the airport was one for the movies. As I exited the famous sliding doors from the international terminal at Kimpo International Airport, I scanned the row of eagerly waiting faces for a familiar one.

"So Yeon ah!" my Mom cried out.

"Umma! Umma!" I left my baggage cart and rushed to hug her.

It felt monumental and big. Seeing Umma for the first time in 8 years. I just kept saying Umma and crying. We made a huge scene but we didn't care.

When I had my first child, my Mom moved to the States to live with me for a while. The idea was that she would provide childcare so that we wouldn't have to send him to daycare.

Let me spare you the suspense. It was a disaster.

She didn't speak a word of English and didn't have a driver's license so she depended on me for everything. I was working full time and resented her for being so needy. We got into a huge epic fight and she ended up moving out and then we didn't really talk for a few years. We both needed space. Away from each other.

We started talking again slowly. A text here and there. A phone call here and there.

"I heard there was a fire in California. Are you okay?"

"Yes, we're fine. They're pretty far away but the smoke is really bad."

A phone call to let me know her new address. A text with pictures of the kids.

Slowly we made our back to each other to the point that I felt a little bad about letting her know of yet another vacation that my family had taken to Hawaii. She had never been to Hawaii before and partly because I wanted to go back soon, I suggested that we take a vacation there together. I don't think she could believe her ears.

She was like, "Thank you for even suggesting it. I am so moved."

"Umma, I'm being serious! Tell me when you can go and I'll make the reservations." I said.

"Oh, I am busy. I have English class and so many doctor's appointments. I have to have dental work done and it's going to take two months!"

"Okay. Just tell me when you'll be free. I can work around your schedule."

"Okay. Maybe in the fall."

"Okay. Fall is good."

Her partner called me a few days later and asked me to take her to Hawaii ASAP because she has nothing to do and she is available starting immediately.

LOL

So, my Umma and I are going to Hawaii in a few weeks. I picked the Big Island for her because there's so much variety there and I think she will really enjoy it.

Hopefully there won't be any epic fights. Just a lot of good food, good scenery, and good memory making.

Wish us luck!

Best,

Mary

Time of My Own

Growing up as an immigrant kid, I watched my parents struggle a lot. They worked painfully long, labor-intensive hours, often more than 14 hours a day with no real breaks, six days a week. They could never catch up on their sleep and had no time to spare. I remember their exhaustion stretching out like a rope of molten glass, drooping from its own weight, threatening to crack with the passage of time.

As a teenager, I tried as much as I could to help. I cooked dinner, washed the laundry, cleaned the house, helped out at their store. And I was hyper-aware that I should never impose on their time. I remember one time I returned to law school after a visit home. I accidentally left something behind at my parents', perhaps a watch. When I mentioned it to my roommate, she casually suggested that I just call my parents and ask them to send it. I thought her suggestion absurd. No, that's not possible, I said to her.

But more than with regard to time, I knew I should never impose on them emotionally. We weren't an emotionally open family to begin with. But the idea of bringing my personal issues into the household, where my parents' stress already stretched out the seams of our family fabric precariously, was unthinkable. When their frustration and unhappiness started to swell and they started unfurling their anger at each other, we just quietened our breaths and sagged against the cold, desolate walls.

I learned to be accommodating. To figure out a way to help quietly. To identify the areas of need so that I could find a way to fill them. I took it upon myself to play that role. I had to help us. I was the only one who could do something. There was no one else.

Announcing the next KM Book Club Selection: Honolulu by Alan Brennert

Hi, Kimchi Mamas!

Hope everyone is having a fantabulous summer so far.

I am happy to announce July's book club selection, Honolulu by Alan Brennert.  This one was suggested to me by none other than Amazon.com's greatest recommendation-guessing robots, but from the synopsis alone, it sounds right up our alley.  I'm always curious to read books told through a woman's point of view but written by a man.  Sometimes it can be amazing (She's Come Undone is a notable example).

If you're interested in joining us, please comment below, and I will open up a discussion thread on Saturday, July 27th!  Can't wait to hear from you guys!

Mahalo,
Julie

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Book Description:

From the bestselling author of the “dazzling historical saga” (The Washington Post), Moloka’i, comes the irresistible story of a young immigrant bride in a ramshackle town that becomes a great modern city 

“In Korea in those days, newborn girls were not deemed important enough to be graced with formal names, but were instead given nicknames, which often reflected the parents’ feelings on the birth of a daughter:  I knew a girl named Anger, and another called Pity.  As for me, my parents named me Regret.”

Honolulu is the rich, unforgettable story of a young “picture bride” who journeys to Hawai'i in 1914 in search of a better life.

Instead of the affluent young husband and chance at an education that she has been promised, she is quickly married off to a poor, embittered laborer who takes his frustrations out on his new wife. Renaming herself Jin, she makes her own way in this strange land, finding both opportunity and prejudice. With the help of three of her fellow picture brides, Jin prospers along with her adopted city, now growing from a small territorial capital into the great multicultural city it is today.  But paradise has its dark side, whether it’s the daily struggle for survival in Honolulu’s tenements, or a crime that will become the most infamous in the islands’ history...

With its passionate knowledge of people and places in Hawai'i far off the tourist track, Honolulu is most of all the spellbinding tale of four women in a new world, united by dreams, disappointment, sacrifices, and friendship. 

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A Culinary Tour of Koreatown with Anthony Bourdain and a Couple Bros

Episode Two of "Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown," a new show on CNN that promises to "take you to exotic global destinations through Bourdain's unique lens," featured Los Angeles' Koreatown last week:

 

Anthony hung out with two famous Korean American "bad boys": Roy Choi of Kogi foodtruck fame and David Choe, street artist and newly-minted multimillionaire.  Roy and David took Anthony on a culinary tour of K-town, including surprising stops at Sizzler and Jollibee, as well as profiling their families' compelling stories.  Roy even gave an excellent breakdown of the 1992 LA Riots from the Korean community's point of view, a viewpoint that is not often explained so poignantly on mainstream media.

I really enjoyed the show, being a fan of all three gentlemen, and feeling more and more proud as they introduced Anthony to each new beloved haunt: the glories of Beverly Soon Tofu, the rohsu gui at Dong Il Jang, and this amazing-looking dumpling place called Myung In Dumplings which I now have made my life's goal to find and set up camp in.  The Koreatown they showed him was sexy, delicious, laid-back, and rife with gorgeous examples of the ever-fabled melting pot.  

One stick in my craw was the lack of a strong female Korean American voice.  David Choe's mom was featured quite heavily, which I appreciated, but if he's looking for "bad Koreans," he would have benefitted from getting to know some Korean renegade riot girls too!  I personally would have loved to have taken Anthony around Galleria market, fed him gamja tang, haemul jungol, and soondae, and drink him under the table at the noraebang!  Maybe next time, bro!

--Julie

"An Overlooked School Shooting..." One Year Later

Did anyone else hear the NPR "Talk of the Nation"  "around the nation" segment about the Oikos University shooting? It aired earlier today: An Overlooked School Shooting and the Korean American Community.

It was a very short interview with Jay Kang, but I'm glad it was done at all. Mr. Kang spoke of "han", the idea of "The Korean Dad", and the stereotyping of Korean Americans and shootings.

I am curious to continue the conversation... I am curious to hear your thoughts and especially the thoughts of our fellow Kimchi Mamas who live in the SF/Oakland area.  Were there any memorials? Articles in your local paper(s)?

What was your reaction when this happened? How do you feel about it now? And how do you feel about it now within the context of the Virginia Tech shootings 5 years ago this month? And within the context of the Newtown Massacre?

How do you think this affected the Korea/Korean American community locally? Nationally? 

How do you think culture played a part?

 

(Angie in Texas)

*I purposely did not use the names of the shooters in any the events.

 

Stranger in a Strange Land

The kids and I sat down at our local teriyaki place, next to a couple in their 50s with their buddy. They were very conspicuously complaining about all the taxes they have to pay this year, including a THOUSAND dollars to THAT OBAMA (I assume they make the check straight out to him?), and how they're not taking it anymore and they're going to just not pay it because that money is going directly to welfare queens and aborting babies and death panels and Muslims and...

...so I told the kids to pack up their stuff because we're moving to another table.

I tried to give them my best Korean Mom Death Stare along the way. They quieted down after they realized that they were out of their usual bubble.

This happened in Long Beach, California, a diverse city compared to most of the country.  And yet, it is apparently not diverse enough, since people like them still feel like they can proclaim their misinformed, bigoted thoughts without repercussion.  Obviously, people are entitled to their own opinions, but it's the pure vitriol in which these opinions are uttered that disturbs me.  And of course, if they were the first people I encountered bad-mouthing the poor, the disabled, or the race, nationality, supposed religion, or character of our president, I wouldn't have bothered writing about it.  But attitudes like these are prevalent here.

Even my next door neighbor, whom my children adore and who has many times helped us settle into our home, holds frightening views on Latin Americans and other  immigrants.  He doesn't know that I, like many other permanent residents and naturalized citizens, was at one point an illegal immigrant.  

A family who lives a few houses down sent their two young girls canvassing the neighborhood in support of Proposition 8.  When I tried to explain to these girls how I aligned myself with the gay community and believed in marriage equality for all, they looked sincerely frightened of me.

Across the street from them, another lady runs a daycare in her home, and she told Tim to watch out for other daycares in the neighborhood who hire minorities and illegals, when he called her to enquire whether she had room for Emi when we first moved here.  Since the conversation was over the phone, she did not know she was talking to a minority family.  Since then, we have seen her take her charges for walks around the neighborhood, always 6-8 beautiful blonde children in a red wagon.  I do not think it's pure coincidence that the children are always white.

And so, after almost five years here, this corner of Long Beach doesn't quite feel like home.  I feel like a tourist, an alien, and I worry my motley little family will always feel that way, no matter where we settle.

--Julie

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A reader expressed some concern about my statement about being an illegal immigrant at some point in my life.  Here is my clarification (although honestly, I don't know the whole story, since I was a young child when this all went down):

My family and I did not COME here illegally, my father was sponsored through his employer and he did everything by the book. However, there was a very, very long waiting period between applying for a green card and receiving it, where technically our status was up in the air (or maybe his status was still okay, but my mom and I were not? I'm not clear on the details). We couldn't go visit relatives in Korea, for example, because we would have trouble coming back into the US.

During that waiting period, which I believe took about 10 years, I grew up as a normal Korean American kid in southern California. There was no way you could line up other typical Korean American kids and point out those of us who were technically visaless, or social security number-less, and those who were born here, even if you opened a window into our brains.Once we received permanent residency status, things were hunky-dory, and it didn't take long for us to become naturalized citizens after that. This was a pretty typical immigrant story for the time period, although I do not know what the process is like now.

A Korean Thanksgiving

How does a 1st generation Korean family do Thanksgiving? I remember the first few times, my parents and I quizzically poking at dry cafeteria turkey breast and grimacing at the new herb flavors in the stuffing.  I remember my uncle good-naturedly trying to swallow down mashed potatoes on his first Thanksgiving with us, then eventually caving in and asking for some kimchi to go with it.  

However, as the years passed and the more America we absorbed, we learned to adore this holiday and its feasting.  And we have blended it with some Korean favorites, which actually go really well with the more traditional dishes.

Kimchi instead of cranberry sauce...

Kimchi fried rice (try it with gravy on top)...

Korean moonshine made from backyard grapes and soju...

Three generations of silly, brilliant people

What are some elements of your own Korean American Thanksgiving?  Let us know in the comments below!

Call for Submissions at KoreanAmericanStory.org

Do you or your family members have stories to share for an anthology devoted to the Korean immigrant experience in the 70's and 80's?  If so, please consider submitting it for publication at KoreanAmericanStory.org.  They are collecting content in a variety of formats, and they will compensate for the stories they select for publication.

Details can be found here.

--Julie

On Blogging

About a year ago, I received a call from my mother around 9pm PST.  She lives on the East Coast, so it was around midnight her time.  I picked up the phone, alarmed that something could have happened to my parents who live alone in a closed-blind suburb of New York.

"Mom, is everything ok?" I asked as soon as I answered.

"Are you writing about our family in a blog?" she asked.

I was too stunned to respond.  I had been keeping a blog for the past few years, and I had written liberally about our family.  But I had not told any members of my family about it. 

"Why are you writing about our family?" she continued.  "And why are you doing it in your name?  Other people blog anonymously.  Why do you have to put your full name on your blog?"

Generational differences in immigration?

This article from Diversity Executive states that different generations of immigrants from Korea had different experiences, largely due to the reasons for the immigration. 

Earlier immigrant waves followed the more traditional "work hard to build a new life" paradigm, dealing with a lot of racism while they were trying to gain a foothold.  Later immigrant waves were more likely to come from wealthier families, seeking a US college education and more opportunity.  Not necessarily looking for a "better life."

My immigration story is adoption into white middle class, but my (white) grandparents' generation maps to the earlier immigrant waves.  Comment below--does your family's experience map to the article?  Or did the author get it wrong?

--Posted by Jomama