South Korea 2010: A day by day retrospective
I'm never doing this again.
Day 9; the end.
I'm sitting on the plane. I'm tired.
My uncle's two kids keep me up until 5am on the previous night. I vaguely remember what we discussed, but I do recall making a conscious decision to stay awake for as long as I could. Who knows when I will see them again? Both of them share their respective love interests at school. Cute but I am having a hard time keeping up. I try to be the cool older cousin but alcohol and the heat are too much. I shut my eyes for seemingly ten minutes and my aunt is waking me up to eat breakfast. I feel the sort of tiredness in which you can feel a heavy pressure against your ears and heads, as if there is a massive weight being pressed against you. But I'm thinking more about saying goodbye and departing back to California later in the day. I wish Emmelle was here. I wish I had a camera to relay pictures of my one night in Daejeon for my parents and grandmother.
I'm tired and readjust myself awkwardly in my seat and doze off. I wake in time for our first meal. I'm frustrated. The in-flight movie selection is identical to our departing flight. There is nothing to watch to pass the time. But drowsiness envelops me once more. Before I relinquish myself to sleep, still frames of the past week-and-a-half appear before me. I mentally sift through them like the folder contents of a touchscreen device.
JJa JJang myun delivery. It is in Korea what apple pie is in America. It's kitschy, but we were looking forward to the delivery experience the entire time and saved it for our last meal. The delivery man comes to the front door on his tiny motor bike (more like a large scooter than anything else) and carries his magical metal delivery case to the front gate. He slides open the side of the case and a billow of steam emerges and quickly vanishes, unveiling the delicious contents inside. We devour our meals although we aren't hungry. Emmelle's nephew it seems has grown fond of us. He cancels an item off of his list to hang out this one last time with us. Its these small moments that I'm always afraid of losing. Its our last moment in Seoul.
I only awake for a few minutes at a time. I'm able to sleep through a bulk of the flight. But in between, I continue to think about my conversation with my uncle earlier in the morning. I'm melancholy - not so much gloomy or depressed, but more pensive and introspective.
After breakfast, my uncle drives me to the train station which will get me back to Seoul. It's about a 20 - 25 minute ride, and we fill that time easily with anecdotal conversation. Once we arrive at the station, my uncle leaves the car and tells me that he'd like to spend a few minutes with me before I have to depart.
We sit in the parking lot, and he lights a cigarette. I notice a sign near us that explains how to properly dispose one's cigarette butts. I'm not sure exactly why, but I immediately think about how long it took my dad to understand sign like this in the US. I ask my uncle why he didn't come to the US like the rest of his siblings. He tells me that he worked in Saudi Arabia when he was younger, prior to marriage, and didn't want the hardships of immigrant life based on what he had already experienced.
I explain that I feel that life would have been much easier for my parents had they never left. My uncle tells me that my dad is - what I would translate as - unique. He is a unique individual that couldn't be beholden to a white collar or corporate job. He needed a change. I wonder in my head if this is my uncle trying to sugar coat the situation for me or if this is his younger brother persona that is once again, revealing itself. But I quickly understand that he's not trying to protect me from anything. He says that he honestly doesn't know if it was a good or bad decision that my parents emigrated. There isn't an answer. And he implores me not to think about it; it's a moot point.
However, I can't shake the thought, because it's precisely him, my uncle, that triggers the thought more than anything or anyone else. In him, I see a version of my dad that I rarely see - youthful. Physically, they are very similar in appearance. Very similar. Yet, his eyes aren't tired; his shoulders aren't burdened. He is not an immigrant; I am convinced this is the major distinguishing force. Physically, he is my dad without having to perpetually sling this albatross across his back.
We say our goodbyes. I beg him for the last time to come out to our wedding in May. I can't wait to see him again. I need to see him with my dad, for them to interact as brothers. For my dad to regain that piece of his being that makes him so proud and so alive. It's the best possible ending to this trip.
I'm swollen. I awake one final time before our descent. My feet and ankles are solid stiff and bulbous. Emmelle doesn't seem concerned but I'm having a mini panic attack. I'm pretty certain that blood vessels in my legs will pop and my feet will explode. This feeling keeps me captive until we land.
We're back.
Thanks for stopping by.
