second home

dedicated to my korea family that embraces me no matter how many years it’s been

I recently got back from a trip to Korea, and I feel like I’ve stepped into a part of my life that was waiting for me this entire time.

Korea was a moving target every time I thought about visiting. It was either impossible because of my school schedule, or COVID, or my very limited PTO. It was a trip that was forever on the back of my mind, and after the ten year mark, a trip I thought would remain in my imagination indefinitely.

For the last several years, my family and I would muse about when we’d visit and when we’d “go back”, as though we were returning to home base. I would call myself Korean-American, but the Korean part honestly started to feel flimsy. If you held up a light to it, you could poke holes right through my resolve that it still deserved to be a part of my identity. Before I realized and before I could even stop it, I began to feel more ties to the word “American,” even if America didn’t hold the same respect or love for me. I made my peace with feeling like the U.S. had inherited me, albeit reluctantly.

So when my husband and I booked our August 2024 trip to Korea, at this point it had evolved to become just a checkbox I needed to complete. It was no longer about “going back”, rediscovering my ties to this country, or “discovering my roots.” It was about completing my duty to a family I hadn’t seen in over a decade. I spent the days leading up to the trip spiraling about all the ways that the motherland would reject me and how it would only remind me that I was an outsider.

I’m an only child whose (almost) entire extended family lives in Korea. The word “family” has always felt strained and foreign to me, and I never knew what to make of the fact that I should feel this familial affinity with people I hadn’t talked to in a decade. It had always felt so distant whenever my parents told me about how x cousin was doing y for work and x uncle had just retired. X cousin is also getting married and we’re of course invited, but no pressure for us to go. Y cousin also just started college and we’re all so proud of her, aren’t we? We should go to her graduation one day. All of these words rang empty in my ears and I absorbed the lives of what (to me at the time) felt like those of strangers.

Until this trip.

In Korea, I was consistently reminded of my roots, my ancestors, my heritage, and my heart. It revealed to me what it means to be family, especially when I saw physical features that I saw in the mirror every morning reflected on the bodies of people that I had forgotten about until a reunion lunch. I absorbed memories that others had cherished of my childhood and their role in it and nodded gingerly as they asked if I remembered too. I asked questions to make up for lost time and they answered as though they were recounting stories to an old friend. Grandparents placed banchan/side dishes on my bowl of rice, overflowing what was already brimming with food to make sure that I was never lacking. They inquired how my parents were doing and if they’d ever consider moving back to Korea, asking me to also take their ambu/well wishes for my parents. I basked in being called unni/older sister and remember what it felt like to call my older cousins oppa/older brother, when in America, I am an only child.

This must be what it feels like to have Family.

Five days.

It took all of five days to reframe Korea as a second home.

My grandparents’ house in the countryside, Cheongyang. This little town is known for their pepper production!

Photos of my parents that relatives had tucked away in their wallets surfaced and showed me a life that they had here all those years ago. They were not simply dropped into the U.S. We are not simply American. We are Korean-American. Our roots, our history all reside and hold space for us in the grand city of Seoul and the humble pepper town of Cheongyang. Korea will always be special to me because this is the only country that will hold this kind of meaning: a place that holds so much family and memory, even though I put down new roots in a completely different place.

Whether intentionally or not, I am a blend of both that has never assimilated completely to either.

With all my big emotions and new thoughts to parse through, I left Korea feeling so grateful. Grateful to have a tie to this country; to have a family who chooses to love me even after seeing me anew over a decade later; and to feel an affinity to a place I otherwise wouldn’t have such deep ties to.

To me, being Korean-American means having the ability to assess each place with the eyes of an outsider and the heart of a family member.

With that, see you soon, Korea! Next time will not be so belated.

Milk hits different in Korea and I’ll be dreaming about these convenience store drinks until I return~