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Gathering Place
 Glenda Chung Hinchey |
Walking as a stranger
in an ancestral homelandWhen I made plans to fly to Korea for my grandparents' repatriation ceremony in October 2002, my husband, David, couldn't bear the thought of staying behind. "If terrorists blow up the plane and you die, I'll be devastated," he whispered. "What will I do without you? Let's die as a couple."
So, with friends and relatives, David and I flew to Korea. It was an interesting but surprising trip. We were amazed at how clean and modern Seoul was, and we saw neither graffiti nor obese people.
Our travels took us to the Seoul Tower, which gave us a panoramic view of this city of 12 million people; to the Korean Folk Village, where we dressed up in traditional Korean costumes and saw aspects of old village life; and to the ancient palaces, which impressed us with their beautiful architecture. Sailing up and down the Han River, we marveled at the construction of condominiums off-shore, the average price of which is $400,000. Besides eating Korean food night and day, we watched ethnic dances.
Unfortunately, our itinerary didn't include the Demilitarized Zone between North and South Korea. Since my maternal grandfather was born and raised in North Korea, it would have been interesting to peek into that country. Perhaps some day the two Koreas will be reunited, and we'll be able to meet our relatives in the North at last.
But how did I feel about being in my ancestral homeland? What did it mean to me to be a Korean American in Korea? It was strange seeing throngs of people whose faces resembled my own and who could have been my close friends or in-laws were it not for my grandparents' emigration to Hawaii. During that week, I realized I was more American than Korean in thought, word and deed. As a native Korean told me over lunch, I didn't act Korean. In other words, I didn't really blend in with the natives in Seoul. For example, I didn't bow my head during social contact, greeting or leaving people. And I tended to be more direct in my speech and freer in my thinking.
In fact, some Pakistani men in Seoul eyed my muumuu and asked, "Are you Japanese?"
"No," I said. "I am Korean from Hawaii."
Surprised, they smiled and walked on. Yes, I have a Korean face, an American passport and Hawaiian clothes. To people in Korea, I am unique.
Upon our safe return to Hawaii, I bought a Hyundai Accent. It's a subcompact car with power everything, air conditioning, CD player and a smooth ride -- just right for a short Korean woman like me. People ask why I didn't buy a Toyota instead. I always reply that I want to support the Korean economy.
Now that David and I have visited the land of my ancestors, we want to see Ireland, Scotland and England, the lands of his ancestors. Between us, we'll see the world.
Glenda Chung Hinchey is an occasional Hawaii Public Radio commentator and the author of "Like a Joyful Bird: A Memoir."