"Simply Seoul" a Seoul Travel Page by jujub

Although I have only visited Korea twice in my whole lifespan, I consider myself to be a tourist in a country where I had hoped to blend in -- at least appearance-wise. No such luck -- most Koreans thought I was Japanese, and they just knew I wasn't from around there. At times, they knew even before I opened my mouth, sometimes, they knew even when I only said hello. So much for blending in.

While I do not have a vast knowledge of the Korean history, that only a scholar or a native would have, I can share with you stories from my grandmother and mother, as they recall the country before embarking on a journey that would change their lives and the coming generations.

FYI, I was born and raised in Brazil, until my teenage years, when my father decided to pack up the family and move to the US. My children, will be the first American generation, and I hope they continue the tradition of having offsprings in a different country than they were born.

In case you are wondering, my parents do not blend so well either in Korea -- their mannerisms are different to a degree, which to the untrained eye it won't be noticeable, but the native Koreans know...

My father's mother speaks Japanese -- remnants of Japan's occupation. She doesn't use it that often, and I only heard her speak it once. She tells me of the fear, of the stolen treasures, the sleepless nights, and the destroyed country once the war was over. All part of war, I suppose.

My grandmother tells me stories of hiding valuables in the seams of my father's and uncle's coat linings. After the war, even if you had money, it was difficult to find goods and food, but nonetheless, people would steal from you. A mother of 5 kids, she took the reins and guided the family out of Korea, into the unknown -- which was probably better than the present then.

My father's father, like many Asian men, had a thing for gambling, alcohol and cigarettes. He was a good man, but, when you don't know where to start rebuilding and the future seems bleak, I suppose that is an outlet for many... I like to imagine my granfather as the bohemian type: early mornings and a desk job weren't really it for him. Although I don't remember him too well, if at all, I like to think of him as a free spirit. He passed when I was still a toddler...

My mother tells me about my grandfather: military guy, who, after the war, went missing a few times, courtesy of the government and the few questions they had about whatever it was back then. The highlight of his life, his military career decorates his living room, his study, and the way he relates to his children and grandchildren. Order. Discipline. Obedience. Endurance. Good.

My grandmother would dread everytime he had to step outside: would he come back and when? Everytime he went missing, my grandma would have to inquire his whereabouts to friends of politicians, and beg them to return her husband unharmed, even if they claimed not to know who took him and where he was.

After enough sleepless nights of waiting for her husband to return alive, my grandparents decided to immigrate. There was a missionary boat going to Brazil. Easier to get aboard than the boat going to the US, the whole family immigrated to Brazil in the late '60s.

My mother and my father, then teenagers, met during the sea voyage, and eventually got married in Brazil.

Boats were a good place for single people. Many couples were formed on that long voyage, and many of my parents' friends up to this day, are the strangers they met on that boat.