Tonight is my last night in Korea. I don’t like good bye’s, and so I’m starting to get a little sad to say farewell to my mother country that has treated us so well the last two or so weeks. The last few days in Seoul have been fun and relaxing. A nice calm at the end of a whirlwind.
Friday night, after writing in the PC room for a while, I walked through the steep, narrow streets back to the guesthouse. When I walked up onto our floor, I was met with the same crying we heard when we had left four hours ago. I hesitated to knock on the door, but decided to do it. Gabi answered the door, looking overwhelmed and worn out. Her new daughter, Sarong, looked even more exhausted. She said that when she and her husband had decided not to both come to Korea, she didn’t realize how lonely these moments would be. So we talked for a while, tried to figure out how to distract this cutie little girl (this is where all my funny faces came in handy), and tried to ease the loneliness a bit. Seeing all those tears and the runny nose and the red cheeks- the total grief- on Sarong’s face was hard for me. After a while, she seemed to calm down a little (probably from the pure exhaustion that comes after crying that hard for that long) and we parted ways for the night.
International adoption has changed drastically from the time I was adopted nearly 30 years ago to now. Back in the day, you weren’t really encouraged or even allowed to come to Korea to pick up your child. Now, it’s mostly mandatory. I am so glad. I think that especially back in the day, but even now, it’s a natural tendency for people to think of international adoption (and domestic for that matter) as this happy, exciting thing where a baby comes to her/his new family. It, of course, is both happy and exciting. But witnessing Gabi as she experienced firsthand the other part of adoption, the part with the grieving and the loss of a culture, language, way of life, as Sarong experienced it, convinced me that this is a good and necessary part of the adoption process.
Since we are staying at a guesthouse where the doors lock at 11:30pm (or earlier, depending on how tired Mr. D, the doorman, is), Friday night dinner and dancing are out. So we just did dinner. Even after nearly 2 ½ weeks, we still struggle ordering at Korean restaurants when it’s just the two of us. When we’re with Tiana, the food seems to just keep coming without even a glance at the menu. We walked down the row of restaurants around the corner from our pad, peaking our heads in and trying to figure out which was our best chance at a picture menu. We finally decided on one that looked somewhat busy, but not crazy. The friendly woman sat us down at the table and started speaking Korean to me. I asked her for a menu and she pointed to the kiosk on the wall. All in Korean. Keith and I were trying to decide what to do when a man at the next table turned around and asked me, “Do you speak Korean?”. I explained to him that, no, I don’t speak Korean because I was adopted. He immediately told us it was okay, that he would help us order. He went on to explain that his good friends were the owners, and that the restaurant was famous for its pork cabbage wraps, vegetables, and noodles. He then said a few Korean words to the woman, and within minutes, we had a spread in front of us like the ones that magically appear when Tiana orders. And it was delicious. All of it. I eat so much here. Before he left, he told me that dinner was on him because he was so happy to meet an adopted Korean who had come back to visit her country. I still can’t believe the kindness that meets us here every single day through the people of Korea.
Yesterday (Saturday), we took the subway up to Daehwa, a northern suburb of Seoul and also where Tiana lives. Arriving at the Daehwa/Jeongbalsan area where she lives, I realized how much I miss the openness and nature of home. Her apartment, this cozy but airy flat on the ninth floor of her building, has what I would consider one of the best views you could have in a city. A park. A little Central Park. After taking us out for a yummy late-afternoon Korean lunch, we hung out at her place, enjoying the view and some coffee. After letting our food settle a bit, we headed out for a walk. It gets dark early here, so we walked and watched the sky turn from blue to gorgeous hues of reds and then to the darkest shade of midnight. She took us to her favorite place in the park, a small dock jutting out over the lake. During the late summer months, the lake is filled with hundreds of lotus flowers. Tiana said that during a full moon, she comes out to the lake at night and sits and listens to music, watching the moonbeams bounce off the still, glassy water. Even without the full moon and just the remains of the flowers, it was perfection.
Ever since the public bathhouse experience in Gyeongju, I swore that it was my first and last. But, after much convincing from a very persuasive Tiana, I decided that I would give it a second chance. By the time we finished the walk in the park, I was thinking, phew, she must have forgotten or we ran out of time. Of course, I was wrong. There is a sauna right in her building. SO, I can now say that I have had both a negative AND positive sauna experience. It turns out the reason all the old ladies were staring at me and giving me looks was that I had done it all wrong. Tiana taught me the right way, and it was actually refreshing and relaxing. I wasn’t the awkward, loner girl this time, yay! We talked about how ironic it is in the Korean culture that public nakedness is not a big deal at all, but people will stop and stare if a couple kisses on the street.
After the sauna, Tiana took us to a traditional Japanese restaurant for beer and grub. Once again, she did not disappoint. It was another one of my favorite nights here in Korea. Every now and then, you meet people who can make you laugh so hard your drink comes out your nose, challenge you to think about the world in different ways than you have before, and inspire you to do better for others. Tiana is one of those people. She shared about her many travels, about negotiating her way into Pakistan, taking English books from her students in Korea to the students there who have no resources. She talked about how she wants to go to Bhutan because she has heard that they have been able to maintain a way of life, no matter how the world keeps changing, where they are truly happy people. We talked about how when you travel to different parts of the world and put faces to people, it makes it that much more impossible to hate. I asked about Korea, as I am amazed at the speed at which this country has developed. She told us that just sixty years ago, after the Korean War ended, this country was nothing. The poverty and hunger was worse than many African nations. She talked about the people of this country and the unbelievable, sleepless, hard work they have given to build up this country. She talked about the costs of this quick development- the lack of family time, the stress, both physical and mental. It made me proud and sad for my home country.
This morning, our last full day in Korea, we woke up early to help Gabi and Sarong get to the airport limo stop. We were greeted by a smiling baby girl and her tired mom. I couldn’t believe this was the same kid, though. Kids sure are resilient. We got them on their way and then got back in bed.
This afternoon, we went back up to Daehwa to say goodbye to Tiana. We spent the afternoon together and she took us to the one place we’d wanted to go to, but ran out of time. The DMZ. I always read about the most heavily-guarded border on earth, the border between North and South Korea, in the news and have always wanted to see it. We drove up to a station at the northern most point, right before the border, and were met by three South Korean guards. I snapped a picture as we approached. Tiana talked to them and one of the things they told her was NO pictures allowed. Oops. I’m glad I got one before they told me I couldn’t. Then, they pointed us to a park (of all things) and lookout point right down the road where many people go to see the border. It was sort of surreal. When we pulled up, there were families everywhere, playing and flying kites. Hundreds of those little plastic windmills in bright colors lined the grassy hills. There were numerous sculptures, my favorite being four gigantic sculptures made from bamboo of a figure coming up out of the ground. The sculpture represented the artist’s hope and prayers for the reunification of the two Koreas. It was almost eerie to see one side of the border filled with people just hanging out, having a good time, and then knowing the conditions on the other side of the border, not more than 700 meters across the river, are so different. It is unsettling to see such a huge contrast between two countries that were one not more than sixty years ago. One of my favorite books, “Still Life With Rice”, gives a stunning account of a Korean woman’s life during the Korean War and the drawing of the 38th parallel. After being that close to the border today, I keep thinking about the deep sorrow this country has come out of.
And now I’m sitting here, staring at the explosion of clothes around my suitcase, wondering how I’m going to get it all packed, and wondering how the time flew by so quickly. I am thinking about how I've discovered the truly Korean parts of me that have always been there. I keep thinking about my birth mom and hoping that one day she’ll find out I came here to find her. I want her to know I’m okay and, more importantly, I want to know that she’s okay. I’m thinking about how much I’ll miss being stared and pointed at :). And I’ve been thinking about the family I’ve made here, despite not finding blood relations. Tiana said, “Your family is everywhere, around the world”. I am so grateful for the people that are my family, both here in Korea and back home. And finally, I’m thinking that after a really good few weeks, I’m sad to leave, but ready to go home. Anyeong hi Geysayo, good bye Korea and take care.
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