According to my mother, her father was a successful business mogul, charismatic and strong-willed. He sold custom seals, among other products, to both the public and private sectors in Korea from the mid '50s to '90s. Unfortunately, his business went bankrupt during the Asian Financial Crisis due to a corporate partner defaulting on a large contract. Fortunately, his personal flavor of corporate bankruptcy was bankrolling an ostrich farm into retirement for the hell of it. I kid you not.
My mom claims her family was the richest on the block. The wealthiest in the city. And known. She's told me stories of how local authorities would recognize and salute their car as they drove by. Likely one of the few in the city, given the economic state of South Korea post War. Whether I believe those stories has yet to be determined. But to their credit, a collection of dusty relics still decorate my grandparents' apartment.
There’s a lot I could have learned from my grandfather, and I have little doubt I would have admired the person he was. I had always meant to improve my Korean, so I could speak with him properly. He was a kind-hearted person from what I recall and forgiving to a fault from the stories I've heard. Imperfect in a myriad ways, sure. But he was a slave to his time and his culture, as many of us are.
Still, I wanted to speak with him about his philosophy in business and life, conversations only accessible through an expanded vocabulary. It's something I promised myself as I left home for college. And something I postponed indefinitely.
In hindsight, I should have noticed. The way his stories grew increasingly fantastic with each family gathering. The way he'd ask the same questions. Not in the tone of conversational filler. No, not in the rehearsed etiquette so common to family gatherings. But in the tone of someone needing a reminder, the tone of someone expecting to discover something new.
How's college?
He'd ask in that particular tone. A tone like I'd just left for school yesterday. My mind explained away the audible disconnect as a cultural barrier, and I answered each time, in much the same way, flaunting my newfound expanse of knowledge through broken Korean, using English to sloppily pave over the gaps.
But then I graduated. I started work. And months passed.
How's college?
There’s a negative stigma around the topic of mental health, especially in Eastern cultures. The adults in my family already knew. They watched in agony, then acceptance. But they didn't talk about it. And I sure as hell didn't get the memo.
But I should have noticed, language barrier or not. In what reality does one watch the degradation of a mind without a hint that something's amiss? The signs should have been clear had I paid any mind in those years. So who's really to blame?
I could've learned Korean like I'd said I would. I could've set some time aside for that or at least driven the half hour home every now and then to check up on my family. But instead, I used college to escape. Academia was my safe haven from a toxic upbringing. It was my flight from a past decorated with the common immigrant traumas of a Korean-American variety. So when I left, I did my best to leave the past in the past, forgotten and unacknowledged.
I need to learn, was the echoed mantra.
I need to study, was my permission to be heartless.
Sometimes life hands you lessons, and it's not immediately clear what those lessons are supposed to be. I found myself at a deficit: the realization defying comprehension, refusing to impart any wisdom. In most other circumstances, I'd have brushed myself off and taken the ambiguity in stride, expecting a lesson in time. Mistakes keep life spicy after all, and there's always a silver lining. This time felt like an exception. And though the lesson may have grown clearer through the years, I can't help but feel it was a bit too expensive.
할아버지, 어떠세요?
요기 잘 찾아 왔네요. 안 말해줘서, 찾일까 쫌 걱정 났어요. 마음이 아프네요. 왜 아픈지 알았으면, 웃을 것 같애요.
할아버지 의 웃음 하고 카리스마가 생각나요. 나이 먹고, 70살 댓 때도, 머리가 잘 도라 가고. 저를 계산자 슬 가르켜 주구, 왜 중요한지 설명하고. 그 기역 이 났네요. 가치 장기 천거 생각 나세요? 재가 여덟 살 때 두번 이긴 거 도 생각 나세요? 일부러 졌져.
내가 어렸을 때, 저를 논구 개임 데려 준거 생각나요. 빵점 넛 지요.. 보는 거가 너무 힘들었지요? 고마워요. 할아버지 와 할머니 가, 엄마 아빠 올 수 없을 때, 와 조서 너무 고마웠어요. 전에 안 말해줘서 재송해요. 제가 잘못 했습니다.
사랑해요,
정섭