I mean, I'm getting ready for a 3 year LLB in England. I'm mentally prepping. I'm getting it together. I'm regrouping. I've got book lists, museum lists, day planners going, brand new post-its with brand new goals. Staying fit, drinking (a reasonable amount of) LOTS of water and getting to know a bit about Asia.
I'm paying off my debts, I'm looking into a scholarship, next month I'm going to start saving for some travel and mostly for school.
This is not a blog post about my Wonderwoman (or lackthereof) Complex.
But..I'm like an independant woman...totally..sort of ...right?
Right?
Hold your horses a second.
Then, through my friend and colleague Juliette (Julia), I was introduced to the infamous Mr. Lee.
Mr Lee is an incredible human being. Mr. Lee is a 76-78 Korean ex-Marine/Colonel who served TWICE in the Vietnam war. We are not sure about his age because..well..neither is he. He is FOR SURE born in 1934 (like my own grandpa) but he gets confused sometimes. So do we.
We're not confused about the big things. Mr. Lee is a person someone needs to write about. Because the world is more beautiful with Mr. Lee in it. South Korea is a better place for me with Mr. Lee in it.
He comes from Busan and has been in the army since he was 17. He has two sons: the older one and the smarter one. Yup, according to Mr. Lee his smarter son is VERY VERY SUCCCESSFUL AND VERY VERY RICH. He's a very proud father, father-in-law and grandfather.
He is very important and he wants to make sure we are okay here in South Korea. Because "we are doing a big thing" for Korea..teaching young kids English. With his hands and his sparkling eyes, Mr. Lee told us these kids will grow up, knowing english, and become better for it. I liked that.
At first, I thought he was a cute old man with a lot of time on his hands and a lot of silliness. He was like a whole world that was waiting to be discovered by my foreign, Western eyes.
We went for dinner to this nice Korean restaurant where he told us about his war time, his call for duty, his Marine training in Virginia ("in America...you know the Marines?? Not the army, the MARINES!), his pride in his sons and how much he misses his grandsons. He has TWO grandsons. "Both boys!"
I said, "yes, that's lucky!" He laughed, clapped his hands and said "yes! You get the Korean way! Two boys and two grandsons!! Very lucky!!"
Because his sons live in America, he has managed to become a US Resident as well. He showed us his card. It is all very official. Everything with Mr. Lee is very official. He lets us know he worked for the government...all the time. And that he'll call the government if we ever need help with....healthcare, or stomach aches or ...life. In fact, Mr. Lee has written several strongly worded letters to the Korean government about such matters as...the livelihood of beggars, or the develoment of Seoul..you know..the little things.
Like my own grandparents, he divides his life between South Korea and the US. My grandparents spend the winter in Canada with us, then travel back to Bucharest to their own lives in the spring. Like migratory birds. Like the geese that help their babies imprint.
And he is lucky. And now, so am I because I got to know him.
Because Mr. Lee has made me feel the way I do when I'm with my grandparents. He insists on feeding us (Juliette and me) a lot and telling us stories. He goes to the Catholic Church beside our house everyday and reads a lot every night.
At dinner, he said he loves eating shabu with raw egg. I asked if his wife liked it that way too. Shouldn't have asked that. Why did I have to ask that? Why do I ask impossible questions?
Because then, Mr. Lee let us know that his wife passed away. He told us quietly and like he was telling his own grandchildren. I was unprepared. I thought his wife was still in the US living in the ("very expensive") retirement home he tells us about.
He took out his wallet and showed us pictures of his family. Then he showed us an old, old picture of him and his wife on their first date. It was outside a temple.
Now I don't know if it was the soju or the homesickness or my sensitivity or all of the above but I started crying. I obviously hate crying in public.
But I couldn't stop my eyes from being red. Not because Mr. Lee was sad. It was the normality, it was the natural way in which he very easily related the day to us. It was a sunny day. They were visiting a temple. It was a beautiful temple and they liked it. Period.
It was a good day. Period. They were married afterwards. Period. Spent a whole life together. Period. Raised two sons, two grandsons and life unfolded. Period.
Period Period Period.
There is so much space in a period. So many years pass. So many years can pass so quickly inside or beside a period.
Anyways.
Something deep deep in me was unleashed. I not only remembered my grandparents and how lucky I was to have been raised (and cherised) by them. I remembered the way I felt before I started layering so many hard-faced personas. All the fucked up alter egos, all the shitty masks and sparkly skins. I remembered the way I used to feel before I stopped feeling like myself. I remembered the way I felt as a child. Demure, wide-eyed, glowing, alive, raw, tender around the edges.
I don't have to be the best or even amazing. I just have to be. Me. I'm enough, I'm perfect, good, great. I was made well.
Because Mr. Lee thinks of us like his family. And now, I have family in South Korea! Wait what? I have family in South Korea. Yes, I sure do.
Mr. Lee told us that we can tell our families about him and that they can rest assured because someone here cares for us. Someone here wants our well-being and wants to help us if we need help. He said "maybe I can help you. Maybe I can't. But I'll try"
Jesus. My hard, sarcastic North American facade makes me wanna say "What?? This sounds weird." But why? Because someone genuinely has lended a hand to strangers?
Mr. Lee stops traffic in his clumsy way and lets us pass like goslings safely to the other side of the street. He holds doors open for us. I'm humbled and feel safe. Like it's okay. Like maybe the world isn't as scary as I let myself think it is.
I'm just a girl alone in Asia trying to get to know herself better before the big bad world swallows her whole.
And I'll roar. I can roar anyways.
Tiny roar, albeit.
Baby lions roar too you know? Baby lions are also part of the big strong Pride. They don't just have pride. They are the pride.
No comments:
Post a Comment