Life in Korea, part one.

So my therapist wants me to write about my life. beginning to the end. This is an easy way of doing it.


If you've read my other blog, skip this section...My name is Angel. No, that's not a pen name. It's my birth name. That story will come in later. I'm 22 now, and I'm a musical kid. I play flute, and will be graduating from college soon.


Now then. the best way to start my life story is at the beginning, right? Well I'll try my best with what I remember. I'll start with my parents. Mom is Korean. Dad is American. They met in Korea in 1990. Do some math there guys. That's right, I came into that picture barely a year later...but I'll get to that in a second. My mother was a young and very successful nurse at the time. Story has it that one of my mom's patients came in and wanted to take her out bowling with her. The patient's boyfriend was bringing a single friend so they could all have fun and bowl together. How romantic, right? A bowling alley...anyways. My mother states, "It was love at first sight!" and anyone who knows me even a little bit knows I think love at first sight is a load of shit. But so the story went. They met in November. Dated until December, which my dad then proposed to my mother. Got married in January. Literally three months of knowing each other and they were married, and having a baby soon. My mother shrugs it off as "true love" and "the military rush, desert storm and all." I think it's excuses and she knows she shouldn't have rushed into things. Nine months later, My mother was in New York, Plattsburg to be precise, and having me. Alone. In a foreign country. All doped up on medication, she names me after her favorite comic book character at the time, Angelique. A french prostitute heroine. They only upside? At least that comic wasn't well known...Let's go back to when I stated that my mother was alone while having her first child. That's right, my father was no where to be found. My mother says he was too busy celebrating but I feel like there was more to it. My mother was determined to have me in America so that I could be president if I wanted to be. Sadly for her, I really don't.


For two years, my mom lived in the frigid town of Plattsburg; homesick, young, and poor. Let's jump to Korea. I don't remember New York, other than what my mom has told me.


I was two and surrounded by family. By love. My 할모니 [Halmoni] was who I clung to whenever my parents weren't around. She was my grandmother. We lived on a hill, in a house where another family had the upstairs and we had the downstairs. There was a HUGE kitchen, and I remember at one point, we lived in the house literally next door. It was in Kunsan, and I was, in my mind, a Korean little girl. I spoke only Korean. To the point where if someone asked me to speak English, I would recite my ABC's.


Overall, I looked American, but was Korean. I went to a preschool/kindergarten that was a part of the church I attended with my family. I remember bits and pieces of that school. I was part of the green class. I remember being allowed to be a part of the red class [an older group] for a dance recital. I remember pretending to be a salesperson and dealing with fruit sales to learn the value of money. Most importantly? I remember my fifth birthday celebrated at school.


My school asked the mothers of all of the September birthdays to come in and I remember begging my mom to go. She was never the social type. I dressed up in traditional Korean clothes and wore "big girl make-up" that my teacher put on me. I felt beautiful and I knew if my mom showed up, we would be the best looking pair there. I practiced over and over on how to do the formal bow to my mother and how to hold a candle in the ceremony to thank her for giving me life. I remember almost about to cry because my mom wasn't there and the ceremony was starting. Everyone else's mom was there except me, which meant I would have to be embarrassed in front of the "pure" korean kids. They were cruel. Finally, before my tears broke through, I saw my mom in the back. Just seeing her made the biggest smile appear, and instantly everything was going to be ok.


Proudly, I walked carefully with my lit candle to my mom and spoke the note of praise to my mother for giving me life. I set the candle down and did my bow. I remember only thinking, "My mom is the most beautiful mom here!" It's honestly the best memory of my mom I have.


Her showing up late didn't matter. The fact that she showed up did.


More stories of Korean life later.


I wanted to start off this "project" with a happy story. There's so much sadness to come, I need to remember not all of it was bad.