“a mixed experience” is right.

What do you think of when you hear the word ‘family’?

There are many kinds of families, and they may be happy or unhappy in their own unique ways, but what is unavoidably true for every family is that there is a bond that exists solely within it. This bond cannot be broken by distance, time, misfortune or abandonment, for better or for worse.

The family bond makes us look at old photos of our great-grandparents to find something in them that reminds us of ourselves. It is the reason adopted children seek out their birth parents - it is also the reason why they may choose not to. It gives us ground to stand on when we want to claim a nationality, a piece of land or bit of culture for ourselves, no matter how tenuous or old that family bond might be. It excuses our worst behaviors. It empowers us to be better people.

When these bonds are cherished, it can bring incredible fulfillment and security in ourselves and our lives. When family bonds are torn apart, the destruction and guilt that it leaves behind is savage. I have a feeling I don’t need to explain this in detail to many of my readers.

When we are young, it’s easy to romanticize what it means to have a happy family - it’s natural. We all want to have happy families who love us, even if we might not have a clue what that looks or feels like. It’s almost like we know deep down inside what it really means to be cherished, so instinctive it’s like some mysterious, genetic code.

As we grow older, we start to feel the weight of these family ties. They begin to hold greater significance. We recognize how they tug us this way and that. They are invisible strings that can drag us along like unwilling puppets through our lives if we’re not paying attention.

Given how powerful these bonds are, the desire to reconnect with family after bonds have been severed is an innate one, especially when the decision to cut family off was not our own. We want to find out for ourselves if we can put it back together again.

Growing up, my 할머니 (Korean grandmother) was just an angry, muffled voice I overheard from my mom’s conversations on the phone. My mom waved the long-distance calling card around as her hands become more agitated to match her rising frustration. Calls with 할머니 meant mom hanging up the phone, crying. My Korean grandfather was memorialized in the grey photograph of a gaunt-faced man, long dead and seemingly missed by nobody.

Despite all of this, I suppose those family bonds tugged at me and I ended up moving to Korea after college, hoping to discover for myself what my Korean family was like. Over time I’ve had to painstakingly separate the fragments of my mother’s broken past from my own blossoming relationships with my Korean family to really figure out if this was what I wanted.

Sometimes it felt like I was trying to grasp at the splinters of old family ties, long laid shattered between my mom and her Korean family, and they cut me. That’s what broken family bonds do.

It’s been years since I’ve re-entered the lives of my Korean family members, not as a child but as a thinking, self-sufficient adult, and I’ve come to realize many things about this process.

ONE - There’s Things You’ll Never Be Part of.

Sometimes, it feels like you’re walking on the set of a movie that’s already been halfway filmed. All of the characters know their lines and the story is developed when you appear out of nowhere. Nobody has time to slow down and catch you up on everything. It feels like people are feeding you the script little by little, jumping all over the timeline, and you’re trying to piece the story together even as the movie continues to be filmed.

Everyone else was there when the scenes happened… except you. You can react, talk about it or try to understand, but you’ll never really get what it felt like to have been there. No matter how hard you try, there are core moments in the family history that you just weren’t a part of.

TWO - You Can’t Change What Happened… But You Can Change What Will Happen

The past has happened. All that remains now are the consequences.

There’s a scene from the Lion King that I had completely forgotten until recently. When I watched it I literally gasped as the simple truth lit up my brain.

Simba is wondering if he should return to Pride Rock. “Going back means I’ll have to face my past,” he muses, “I’ve been running from it for so long.”

Rafiki, in his infinite and chaotic wisdom, swings his staff and whacks Simba on the head.

“Ow!” Exclaims Simba, “what was that for!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rafiki says nonchalantly, “it’s in the past.”

“yeah…” says Simba, rubbing his head, “but it still hurt.”

Cue lightbulb moment.

Alright, so the past has happened. All that remains now are the consequences. But that statement doesn’t end there - what matters now is if you’ll run from it or learn from it.

There’s some things you’ll never be a part of, no matter how long you stick around and no matter how hard you try to understand your family history - purely by the fact that you just weren’t there when it happened. But that can be a blessing, too.

If you missed out on the suffering, then you dodge the consequential trauma. Maybe mom and 할머니 have had too many years of pain between them to easily start again. But not me. I don’t bear any grudges or resentment against 할머니.

I’m a fresh piece of paper, a chance for her to try again to leave her mark on her family; but this time fingerprinted by love, not anger or sadness.

THREE - Life Will Be More Complicated

Especially in the case of adoptees who reconnect with their birth families, I think there’s this simple belief that the story ends once everyone is reunited. In reality, I’d say it’s the hard middle. I’m not a Korean adoptee, so I don’t know how that feels, but when I reconnected with my Korean family I had this simple confidence that they’d accept me and I’d feel comfortable right away - because we’re family! I had drawn this general image of what my family might be, without their individual opinions, struggles, beliefs and personalities penciled in.

Sometimes you get what you wish for… and more.

FOUR - The Biases Might Sting a Little More

I think my fellow half-Koreans will understand. I was on a flight one Christmas with my aunt and uncle who were coming to visit the US for the first time, when a woman sitting nearby asked me how to use the plane’s entertainment system. I showed her and she thanked me, then looking at me with a careful smile, she asked, “are you… Korean?”

Before I could answer, my aunt leaned over and said, “no, that’s my niece, she’s American.” The underlying meaning - she’s not Korean. I know, it’s confusing.

The two struck up a conversation, myself left to sink into my seat and look out the plane window.

These moments happened frequently. I’ve had a lifetime to practice analyzing curious strangers and decide how best to respond to the questions of “where are you from,” and “are you Korean” and “how do you speak Korean so well”, but my Korean family was new to this. I can’t blame them for not understanding my perspective, but it does sting a little bit more when you realize they don’t see you as ‘one of them’ either.

FIVE - You Can Choose Which Family Bonds to Cherish

This was an eye-opening moment when I realized this. In an ideal world, family would only be associated with strength, love and safety. This is not an ideal world, so we adjust accordingly through experience, wisdom and hard-earned lessons. Nobody wants to cut off family members. Nobody wants to be hurt by them either.

Family isn’t something you can or should easily dismiss, but at some point you discover that you can’t hold onto everyone in hopes of a perfect family. Some people might not be ready to embrace you. Others might be apathetic or don’t know how to love you yet.

It’s alright to give them their space. It isn’t severing family bonds, but gently putting them down. They’ll be there if you’re ready to try again - that’s the everlasting nature of family.

If you’re hoping to reconnect with your family, I cheer you on. It isn’t a simply journey. However, at least for me, I know now that I’ll never wonder what might have been if I had never tried.

Me and my 할머니? I’ve brushed the old cobwebs off and swept the dust of resentment to uncover that the family bond is still as strong as ever. It just needed someone to reach out and take hold of it.