Spicy ramen

Over the past month or so, I’ve been making a concentrated effort to lead a healthier lifestyle. I’ve been working out regularly, cooking balanced meals and even taking a multivitamin. It feels good to know I’m actively pursuing my own wellness. I’ve noticed a difference in my overall mood and the positive feelings are motivation enough to stay disciplined. However, I’m only human and there’s one craving that I don’t think I will ever be able to shake for the life of me. As the title of this post would suggest, I’m talking about a tasty little snack called spicy ramen. Cheap and chock-full of MSG. Yum.

You might assume I developed this affair in college seeing as ramen is a poor undergrad staple, but no. If anything, college actually turned me off to ramen, particularly the chicken and beef Cup Noodles which I now feel nauseated by. I won’t eat any kind of ramen anymore except for the spicy variety. On rainy days I especially crave it, more than soup or a hot cup of tea. I just want a bowl of those fiery noodles with my name on it.

My body has a number of sensory memories stored in it, but the one associated with spicy ramen is maybe the strongest I have so far in my 25 years of life. It takes me back to Buan, my birthplace. In my entire life, I have spent less than 24 hours there. I was born in the evening and shuttled straight to Seoul, my omma relinquishing me immediately. It wasn’t until this past June that I finally went back to see the city for myself. A cheerful young guide accompanied me on a three hour bus ride and it was cloudy when we arrived. We only spent around four hours there and didn’t do anything too extravagant. It is not an extravagant place to be honest, but it was my entry point into the world. An imperative piece of my life. To simply be there with all my senses snapped on was enough. There was no joy or even deep sorrow for that matter, but some amorphous mix of emotion that I still fail to find a name for. I had initially hoped to purchase an item there to remind me of the experience, but as we passed stores on the street, the notion began to feel cheap. No single item could ever capture what it felt like to be there.

So, the souvenir I ended up bringing back with me is a love for spicy ramen. We missed our intended bus back to Seoul and ended up having a hurried lunch before catching the next available trip. By then the cloudy sky had burst with heavy rain, so we ducked into this small restaurant where a woman made us fresh kimbap and brought us large bowls of spicy ramen. I had never had spicy ramen before and my mouth was on fire after a few bites, but we didn’t have time to eat it slowly, so I kept shoving it into my mouth even as my nose started running. We were sitting at a wooden bar and I had my wet umbrella balanced between my knees. I realized that my time in Buan would be ending very soon and the only thing I had left to do there was eat well, so I did. When we were finished, we literally ran to the bus station and climbed onto the heavily air-conditioned bus all soggy and shivering. And just like that, Buan became a known part of my past.

I hope that I can go back again one day. Maybe stay for a more extended period and get to know the place better. Talk to people (or at least try to). I couldn’t resist the temptation to carefully observe the people, especially those who might look to be near my omma or appa’s ages. Maybe I could walk into a shop and the owner would exclaim my striking resemblance to someone they know. If only, right? For now, I am settling for a bowl of spicy ramen on a rainy day because it brings me back to Buan. I eat it quickly, too, even if I have the time to go slow. I set my mouth on fire because I don’t want to forget what it feels like. What I felt like finally back in the context of where everything began.

Prices we pay

Moment of truth: being a transnational adoptee who wants to explore your roots costs money. The culture camps I attended growing up cost money. The events my adoption group held cost money. Going back to Korea costs money. Searching for your birth family costs money. Money, money, money. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t stress about money. Does being an adoptee cost more? Maybe not for those who aren’t interested in their heritage, but for those of us wanting that connection, it’s time to pay up.

I would save a lot of money if I didn’t go to Korea this summer, but I’m still choosing to go. One could argue that we have the freedom to spend our finances however we want and I would agree with that. No one is forcing me to go to Korea. I made the decision 100% on my own. I decided of the many things in this world I could spend my money on, visiting Korea is the most worthwhile option for me. I have one aunt who is disgusted with me and thinks I’m wasting my finances on some frivolous adventure. She can think whatever she wants. I’m just done explaining myself where no explanations are owed.

Right now, I am fortunate enough to be in a position where investing in a trip to Korea is feasible, but I don’t know so much about the future. I chose a profession which is significantly underpaid. As in not the kind of salary you can travel the world on! I also chose a profession which, at least in some cases like a counselor, can require great consistency and no lengthy vacation times. Although I have deferred my birth family search for now, I do want to search and I would love to go back to Korea multiple times. Especially if reunion works out for me. I’m beginning to worry that my lifestyle choices won’t leave enough room for Korea and that is highly frustrating. Is there a way to have both? I am so thrilled to be going to Korea this summer, but also thrilled to launch my social work career! I want to be the self actualized KAD and the successful, even if poor, career woman. No matter what choices I make, it feels like I am paying the price in some way.

Decisions, decisions

I want to preface this post by apologizing for its lack of organization as I have about five hundred thoughts running through my head. That's what happens when you make a life-changing decision, although it's not yet entirely made.

The decision? To go back to Korea this summer. At first it was just a little thought that casually drifted into my head and back out again. But then it came back again. And again. I don't know when I drank a glass of carpe diem, but here I am now and I want to--no--need to do this! In May I will graduate with my master's degree. I will then be expected to take my professional licensing exam and gain full-time employment. And then I will be a newbie with no vacation time accrued to even consider traveling..well..anywhere. No. This is not an excuse to defer my enrollment into the adult world. This is a chance to live out my life as an adoptee, to wrap myself in a culture which I never really had, yet somehow miss. Man, I really just need to do this. I haven't put any deposits down or anything, but internally I am already fully committed to this idea.

Unfortunately, it's already mid-January and I need to get my act together. I've been stressing myself out combing through the options, trying to decide what on earth I'm going to do. There are many different ways back. I'm incredibly torn. My first trip back was with a tour. While I was satisfied with that experience, I had hoped that I could do it differently this time. The problem is that I don't know enough Korean to feel safe getting around. My plan is to travel alone. No one else in my life has the interest/time/financial means to go with me, but I'm okay with that. At present, I'm considering trying to get a spot on an adult adoptee tour. My life is hectic enough right now as I have committed to mentoring international students this semester aside from taking my full course load, interning and of course making time for my friends. Realistically, I will not be able to learn enough Korean language and culture to feel confident going solo this summer. A place like KoRoot seems like an excellent option, but I am admittedly scared to take that kind of plunge.

Right now, I see three possible options for going back: a tour, independent travel or school. The tour seems like the safest possibility for me right now and the most realistic. At least an adult adoptee tour, I would be with peers and we could participate in activities that family groups wouldn't necessarily get into (ie noraebang, soju..haha). I wish I were more versed to travel independently. I really do. And while the idea of studying at a university for a semester sounds like a dream, the pressure to get a job is always there..the expectations from others. Maybe part of being an adoptee is sacrifice. I feel like I can't have it all. There is no way to have one foot planted firmly in Korea and one in the United States. In sum...I am frustrated. If anyone reading this has any experience/thoughts on travel possibilities, please contact me either through leaving a comment or email! My head is spinning a little.

Going back

It’s something I haven’t thought about in a while, but a phone call from my mom the other day reminded me again. She received a brochure in the mail from Children’s Home Society & Family Services announcing their 2011 trips to Korea. CHSFS is an organization based out of Minnesota (Twin Cities area—large KAD population there from what I understand). Among their many services and events offered, they organize group trips to Korea for KADs and their families. There are numerous programs like theirs and I’m not quite sure how my mom and I linked in with them, but we did go on one of those trips when I was ten years old (1997). That was the first time I went back to Korea. I think I could best summarize that experience as positive and eye-opening. Frankly, I could dedicate a countless number of posts to those two weeks of my life or write a novel right now, but I’ll refrain myself and unpack those memories as I see fit on the blog!

Ever since the trip, I always imagined myself going back to Korea at least one more time as an adult. I’m 24 now which is, for all intents and purposes, adult enough. And I would absolutely love to go back. The questions that remain are when and in what context. As much as I desire to go back, I couldn’t just pack up and go tomorrow. Planning to go back to the country I was adopted from is not the same as planning a trip to Disney World. It’s just not. I already know full well that whenever I do go back, it will be a highly emotional experience. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s another way for me to keep collecting those pieces of myself and create a richer picture of my life. When I do go back, I want to go with an open heart and mind. I want to be completely present to the experience and absorb as much as I can. Planning for Korea will require a certain amount of mental and emotional preparation on my end. What exactly I mean by ‘mental and emotional preparation’, I still don’t know. Oh, and I barely know enough Korean to talk to a toddler, so..that is not helpful.

All these things said, I have no clue when I will go back. I asked my mom to toss the CHSFS brochure. Based on the description, the trip is still basically run in the same way. Not to mention it was composed primarily of parents and children with a few young adults. I don’t want a repeat of the same experiences and I don’t feel that such a trip meets my current needs. Fortunately, there are plenty of options to explore. Maybe I will go through KoRoot or an IKAA gathering. Part of me feels like this summer could be a good time to go, even though it would set me back financially. I’ll be graduating with my master’s degree this spring, so I’m already in debt with student loans. I watch some people grip their wallets so tightly that they stop living and it’s kind of sad. If there’s any experience worth blowing my money on, um, it’s this one! Once I enter the full-time working world, I don’t know when I’ll accrue the time to travel.. I just don’t know. Thinking, thinking, thinking. A girl can only wait so long, but I am being optimistic when I say that I WILL go back someday. Not going is simply not an option.