Somehow, two decades have passed since I moved to the United States (for good). Twenty years. How did that happen? That’s first grade through high school, four years of college, two years of hanging around, and two years of law school. And in all that time, I have not been able to become fluent in Korean.
Yes, that bothers me.
My earliest childhood memories are ones of growing up in Korea. Memories of how my cousins tormented me. Picking strawberries in the fields behind school. Catching dragonflies. Learning piano. Playing GI Joes with my best friend. Bits of memories that don’t all flow together, but somehow seem whole.
When I was six, my father was sent to the United States, and my mother and I obligatorily followed. I left my family and came to live in a place where I had to learn most of the (new) language and forget the old one. And I can’t seem to get back the fluency of Korean now that I am older.
My mother’s sister (yes, my aunt, I’m aware of how that works) is in town. And by “in town,” I mean the same ZIP code. My first reaction to my mother’s suggestion that I meet her while she’s still here was, “NO!” Not because I don’t WANT to see her, or anyone from my mother’s side of the family. It’s because I am ashamed that I can’t talk to her.
I can understand well enough (probably the vocabulary equivalent to that known by a 10 year old), but I just get a mental block when I want to reply. I can’t parse together a sentence. I blanked on how to say how old I was now. I get intimidated in Korean restaurants, for somethings sake.
My parents have told me not to worry about it. But I do worry about it. And it doesn’t help much that Korea is one of those “shame-based” countries. It reflects poorly on me that I can’t speak my native tongue.
It feels like a part of me is missing because I can’t re-connect with the family that dominate my early life memories. I can’t joke about how I used to tattle on my cousin for sucking his thumb. Or how my uncles used to play card games on my blanket. Or how I thought my aunt was the prettiest woman in the world. Or how much they mean to me, even after twenty years away from them.