Umma is lost in her thoughts, every so often shifting her body in a stuffy airplane seat between her two grown children.
She’s only slept a few hours in the past day, afraid to close her eyes and miss a moment. At 53 years old, she’s finally making the trek back to Korea after 26 years, and she’s bringing my younger brother Mark and me along for the journey. Umma doesn’t know what to expect. The images from the Korean melodramas she religiously rents from Videotown in Maryland are her only modern-day reference points.
She knows Seoul isn’t the same city she visited in 1981 with my dad and me, then just a year old. But she still wants to look for some of her old haunts: the park where Appa took her for long strolls when they dated; the cafes where she spent hours gabbing with her best friend, Jung Hee; the neighborhood where she lived during her formative years before immigrating to the U.S. in the early ‘70s. She wants to visit the memories of a past life.
My umma — normally a feisty, control-freak — has no itinerary for our near two-week trip, leaving my brother and me surprised at her sudden free-spiritedness. She’s finally unencumbered by the endless bills, chores and responsibilities that prevented her from re-visiting her homeland for so long.
My brother and I are excited about the long-overdue trip. Mark, who loves to follow Korean pop culture through music and YouTube videos of popular television shows, has never been to the country. He looks forward to soaking in everything Korean: the smells, food, culture and people.
I consider this my first real visit to Korea because I was still in diapers the last time I was there. I expect Seoul to be a huge version of Los Angeles’ Koreatown and can’t wait to be immersed in it.
Umma is more than eager to show us her roots; our roots.
***
We land at Incheon International Airport after 12 grueling hours. My mom gazes into the crowd of people waiting to greet their loved ones, even though she knows there’s no one to welcome us. My mom’s siblings immigrated to the U.S. long ago, leaving Korea behind for more opportunities. Still, Umma had hoped her best friend Jung Hee would show. “She’s busy, Mom. She’s probably working and couldn’t drive down to meet us,” I say.
She doesn’t respond, her disappointment palpable. When we get to the transit hotel in Incheon, Umma expresses her frustration. But she calls Jung Hee anyway, to tell her that she’ll meet her in Seoul the next day after we get some shut-eye.
“You’re at the airport? I thought you couldn’t make it!” Umma cries out. Her friend had taken a bus from Seoul to the airport, but she couldn’t find us. She was on the brink of catching a bus back into the city and is relieved to hear we are staying nearby. She taxis it over to our hotel, and after half an hour, the elevator opens to a stranger. My mom and Jung Hee stare at each other for a few moments before they squeal. “I can barely recognize you! You’ve gotten older!” Umma says.
