Young Ha
Submitted to The Korea Times, San Francisco edition
"Letter Home" Essay Contest, Posted: Mar 31, 2005
Dear Friend, Youngwha:
Last night I was listening to the sound of rain in my dream. It was permeating in my being as if my soul was a dusty clay land and the rain was slowly soaking it with fresh water drops.
“Juruk, juruk, juruk, jurook…”
When I first came to California, it was in July 1996. Do you remember how I loved summer monsoon rain back home and used to walk over hours from Anam-dong to my house, singing and thoroughly enjoying the rain like a mad girl? Guess what! It does not rain during summer in California. The first summer I missed rain so much that I thought my soul was going to dry up like a withered radish leaf under the hot sun. Instead California has a miserable chilly rain during the winter, depressing everyone under the gray sky. You need the crisp cold wind blowing your sleepy mind away in winter, not the languid rain, I know your smiling at me, nodding with a knowing glance. It’s you who loves winter and appreciates the snow-covered silence at dawn. You told me you would never be able to live in a tropical island because it will melt your consciousness. Well friend, here I am in sunny California.
The first time I turned on a television after I moved here from Virginia, I felt so bewildered by Asian people that acted like it was their home. There were a Chinese anchorwoman who looked like a prima Donna and a Vietnamese businessman confidently explaining the commerce in perfect English. All the smiling Hispanic and Asian faces in the commercial advertisements made me dizzy. Over the ten years of my stay in America I had been in the margin as an outsider. In the east coast I was always a guest who doesn’t have a home to stay, observing the white people’s world.
“Where Am I?”
Youngwha, as I began to adjust to the new community and make news friends, my eyes were slowly opened to the face of the Californian life. People were respected by where they were from and expected to contribute their ethnic uniqueness back to the society. It was a striking contrast from what I was used to. In Virginia an elderly woman chastised me when I talked to my daughter in Korean.
“Shouldn’t you teach your daughter English so that she can become a good American?”
Here I am asked if I can share my perspectives as a Korean parent to educate the medical professionals to be culturally sensitive to the Asian disability community. I was also nudged to use my knowledge and wisdom I have learned from my culture when I help people in my volunteering work. It is wonderful to be valued by the people, because of who you are, no because how you’re English sounds or what your face looks like. It makes you relaxed and enriched, knowing you can stop wondering and be part of a community.
I’m not saying I’m living in a paradise, Youngwha. Californians are very impatient and generally rude, which take some time to get used to. After eight years of rubbing elbows with these people, I conclude that they really don’t care whether you are Korean or finish. You are just one of their neighbors or coworkers who are trying to live and find meanings in the life alongside of them. They don’t put on that genteel politeness, dividing them and the outsiders. Youngwha, I finally understand why California is called a “Salad Bowl”, preserving each individual’s uniqueness while creating this wonderful and fragrant ethnic feast. California is a sunny place after all.
It is now winter and has been raining the cold cheerless rain the past month. On the edge of the hill I usually pass by everyday, the velvety green grasses are covering the bare brown earth and some brave daylilies are pushing off the tall shoots, painting nature’s delicate wonder in the ordinary corner of the street.
Youngwha, I think I can sleep and feel the fresh soft rain in my dream. My body is itching to grow the roots here in this winter rain.
Goodbye and take care!
Your friend,
Young Ha
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