These are my people. They are a part of me. I am a part of them. Uncle walked through the door and I saw my dad – they could have been one and the same. I couldn’t hold back the tears. We embraced. We spoke of life. Uncle tells me how very proud of us my dad was, and how much he loved us, his children. He explains an unfortunate nuance of Korean culture in which the fathers have burning love in their hearts for their children, but their sense of aristocratic decencies prohibit them from expressing this love. He speaks in response to my surprise at learning that my dad was proud of us, and especially proud of me. I never knew. It’s a tragic cultural chasm, for parents to be unable to show or assure their children of their love.
my people
My aunt is so beautiful. Her smile radiates. Her love for everyone emanates. Her name is fitting – it means Powerful Love. Auntie’s cooking is the best Korean cooking in all the land. All the Korean ladies want to learn her ways. She prepared a glorious feast for her family, our family.
When the siblings and I were alone, they remarked at how talkative Daddy was – they’d seldom seen him so. I shared with them the things he’d told me about a Korean father’s love and pride for his children, and his reticence to express it and I realize that they have grown up much the same as my siblings and I, in the shadow of fierce love. We have all made strides to ensure that our children, the next generation, are secure in their knowledge of the love we have for them. This is our gift to our children.
I gaze upon my cousins – I can’t stop looking at them. I see my own brothers and sisters, I see myself. The pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place and I see who we are. I see who I am. I know where I’m from.
first cousins first meet - part I
first cousins first meet - part II
What a gift these days have been.
Yasmin Says:
