Home is Where They Want You

Living between Korea and the US is a strange experience.

I feel it keenly every time I land at Incheon airport - that mixture of relief to be home again, combined with the vague alienating feelings that come from the sidelong glances and oft-repeated "oh, you're a foreigner,' despite having lived in Seoul longer than any other place in my life, and a little melancholy whenever I see how things have changed even in a few short months while in NYC. You're always missing something.

When I'm asked "where are you from," I make a hundred decisions in that split second. - Who are they to me, do they care, would they understand, should I just say America, do I say I'm from Korea, would they laugh at that, is it worth the time to explain - and I settle on one choice. "I'm from New York," I say without conviction. "Wow," is the inevitable reply, "you're a New Yorker. Lucky." Sure, I answer, wryly.

Other times, I say whatever I want. There's plenty of people who think I'm from California, Colorado, Pyeongtaek, New Zealand (only once. sorry)... because it really makes no difference. People will think what they want to.

When I'm on the 15 hour flight, that's when I feel most at ease. Everybody on that plane is somewhere in between, away from home.

Countries like Korea and the US love to claim multi-culturalism and diversity as their strengths. But behind these colorful faces of ours, we're all looking for a place to belong, while neither country fully welcomes with open arms. It's a difficult thing to explain if you don't know what that feels like.

Here I am, home again, starting a new year. Until I leave and go home once more.

Just some musings while I have an early morning cup of coffee, looking over the Cheongdam cityscape.