August 9, 1979

Once I was happy

On August 9th of 1979, I stood in a small river outside of Taejon, Korea.

There was white sand on the beach and a small mountain just beyond. I held an colorful umbrella in my left hand. My daughter, Kyung In, rested on my back securely held by a small pink strap in the way Korean mothers carry their children.

When I look at the picture now I see a woman with a beautiful smile. How relaxed she seems. Could she have a care in the world? She certainly had no idea of the unbearable pain that lay just ahead for her and her daughter. All too soon the man who professed to love her so much and who wanted to make her a queen would be dead; leaving her with nothing not even the precious daughter who was now resting peacefully on her back.

But there with my daughter's soft, tiny hands gently touching my body, the warm sun on my arms, the cool water on my feet, my family watching from the shore . . . for an instant all my worries and heartaches disappeared.

Twenty eight years later as I look at that young woman and her daughter I know I'll never be that happy again.

The Picnic

I was so excited when my older sister called to tell me about a picnic our family was having in Taejon. My mother, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews would be there. Living in Seoul I felt so far from them.

Now suddenly, there was something to look forward to. We would all go out to a small river in the countryside. There would be a meal fit for a king with rice, kim chi, bulgogi. We could all sit around, relax, and talk about the old days.

This would be a chance to show everyone how Kyung In had grown since they last saw her at the wedding. Hakkun wouldn't be able to go because he had to work. It would be just Kyung In and me. We would take the highway bus from Seoul to Taejon; about a two-hour trip.

I looked at my empty ring finger and caught a glimpse of my bare neck in the mirror. I knew that I would be embarrassed for my mother to see me with no jewelry; no wedding ring.

Hakkun had made a $20 down payment on a ring and necklace before we were married. He planned to somehow come up with the $120 needed to complete the purchase before our wedding. On the day before the wedding, still without the money, he went to several people and tried to borrow it but had no luck. On the day we were married the ring and necklace were still in the store. That was six months ago and they were still there.

But during the last six months I had been able to set aside $20. While that wouldn't be nearly enough for the ring and necklace, when combined with the down payment it would be enough to pay for the ring.

My heart was beating fast as I walked into the store. I could picture the ring on my finger and my mother and brothers and sisters admiring it.

I took the $20 out of my wallet and started to explain to the store owner that I wanted to get the ring that my husband had reserved. He gave me a cold look and said that would be impossible. The ring and the necklace were a set and I'd have to pay for them both in order to get them.

I begged him to let me buy the ring now and get the necklace later but he refused. I tried to get him to change his mind. When it became clear that he would never budge, I asked him if we could get back the down payment. He said no. Finally I put the money in my wallet and walked out.

Even before I reached the door, tears flooded my eyes. I was sad for myself. How could I be 27 years old, married, and not have a ring? There was no hope that we would ever the $120 for the ring and necklace. If I could have just gotten the down payment back, I would have had enough to buy a ring. But with just $20 it's hopeless.

I was angry with Hakkun. He knew when he made the down payment that he didn't have enough money for the ring and necklace. Why had he wasted what little he did have on a down payment? We could have used that money.

And I could already feel my embarrassment when the family saw that I still had no wedding ring. That would only increase their low opinion of Hakkun. He couldn't even buy me a ring. They didn't accept him from the beginning because he was not a full-blooded Korean. His American blood didn't impress them. Korean women don't marry half-breeds. Now they would have more disdain for him.

As I walked toward the bus, I did what I had done many times before and would do many times after. I wiped away the tears and set my mind on what was next. And what was next would be a beautiful day with my daughter at the picnic. After all, a ring was nothing compared to her. With my daughter in my arms, I could face anything.