KOREA: MY KOREAN SISTER

 

When we were living in Korea, I was an only child, and an only child I would remain, except for half and step brothers and sisters much later in my life. But for a brief time, while we lived on the Presbyterian Missionary compound in Kwangju, I had a Korean sister named Lee. 

Lee was ten-years-old, pretty and had a shy sweet smile. I know this from photographs. Her face is familiar to me as if I remembered her vividly. But in truth, I know very little about her. I do not know where she came from or where she is now.

On the missionary compound, sometimes very poor Koreans would leave their children there because they could not support them. I don’t know if this is what happened to Lee. What I do know is that the missionaries were involved in the process of her adoption, and my parents were told that she was being adopted by a wealthy family in North Carolina. Since Lee needed a place to stay until her adoption papers were finalized, my parents offered to have her stay with us. And so, for a few months, in the year of 1971, we lived like a family. 

My mother was very fond of Lee. They spoke in a mixture of Korean and English and would sew together, or pop popcorn, or bake deserts they found in magazines. Many nights, Lee and I would be tucked into bed together, and sometimes we bathed in the tub filled with children’s bubble bath, or we'd tear around the house screaming gak-koo ( meaning peek-a-boo in Korean and a game I became obsessed with at the time).  For the July 4th celebration, my mom and dad took us to see the fireworks display on the military base, and both Lee and I ooohed and ahhed and clapped our hands.

Once, the four of us went to Seoul for the weekend. We stayed at the Chosun Hotel, shopped, went sight-seeing, and saw Deaksu Palace, and my parents bought Lee and me each a balloon. According to my mother, the four of us were happy to think of ourselves as an American family on vacation. 

But by that September, Lee moved out of our home, and soon afterward went to North Carolina to be united with her new family. My mother had told me that she was sad to see her go, but was happy for her. Retrospectively, I'm happy for her, too, and hope she had found a loving family awaiting her in the United States, and that she has lived a life of good furtune and joy. I think about the fact that she would be in her early sixties now. 

But by the following year, we moved on as well, left Korea, said good-bye to everyone we knew in Kwangju. From there, throughout my life, people and places have come and gone, vanish into the fog but always leaving some sort of imprint. Inevitably, I yearn for these people and places years later, returning, in my mind, certain familiar images, like a long lost relative coming home. When I look at pictures of Lee I can't help feeling like someone dear to our hearts had disappeared. Maybe it's because of the stories I was told, or maybe it's because I had always wanted a sibling, but it would be nice to know if she still remembers us. 

 

                                                                                                                                           - Jennifer Artley