The summer before middle school, I visited Korea for the first time. I was looking forward to connecting with my Korean roots as I immersed myself in the culture. I remember going to a street market excitedly. I was at a food stand when the vendor asked, “한국말 알아요?”. Do you speak Korean? Even though I was with another Korean friend, he looked only at me, as if he could see right through me. He started speaking in English and it felt like a pierce to my heart. Couldn’t he just

The words “I remember” trigger a whole host of memories, but most are from early childhood, meaning preschool and elementary school.  There’s a magical quality to those memories that can’t be tainted. I think my mind gravitates towards those because it wants to hold onto when things seemed simpler. One of my earliest “I remembers” is eating off of colorful plates with fish designs in daycare. 요리 시간, cooking time , is what it was called in Korean. If you know me, it’s very app

The footsteps were moving away. My face unclenched ever so slightly. The walls were  damp and the moss felt gold against my back. My ear was pressed against the crack. My legs just barely folded tight enough behind the stone I had somehow rolled in front. The ground covered with a mixture of moss, dirt, and soot. The small fracture in the ceiling, big enough for only maybe a roll of tape to fit in. The ridges on the back wall.  Every inch of this place would stay ingrained i

Woori Mart.  It’s spelled out in plain green letters. Our Mart.  Whose “our”? The Korean community here in New Jersey? I walk in. Immediately on my left are a few stands selling cosmetics and clothes. Glancing over, I notice a cardboard cutout of Korean star IU standing next to a bottle of refreshing green soju—a common Korean advertisement. To my right is a small food court. I decide to plow ahead first. I’m greeted by a colorful garden of fresh produce: endless boxes of gol