Going Places

     “You drive me crazy, I just can’t sleep. I’m so excited, I’m in too deep.”
     “Alice, stop singing. The snow is driving me crazy enough.”

Apparently, I was the only one excited about this trip to Denver, Colorado. I was singing my favorite Britney song, already making a huge snowman like Frosty in my head. My father, probably glad to be away on a business trip, had left my mother to suffer at the wheel, dealing with my innocent yet annoying exclamations, while at the same time driving to places such as Colorado, Louisiana, Florida, Alabama, Utah, and even Virginia, all the way from Dallas, Texas. Not once did I notice my mother’s fatigue, though, simply excited at the thought of sightseeing.

Throughout my life, I have travelled by foot, by car, by plane, frequently moving as well. Busan, Tskuba, Gumi, Dallas, Cheonan, Seoul, and now Hoengseong… But no, I did not have problems, whether big or small, adapting to the almost regularly changing environment. In fact, that I experienced diverse cultures helped me enhance my social skills and affability. Driving out of a town called upon fragments of past memories, driving on highways surrounded by fast cars and somewhat crowded mountains gave me mixed feelings of both sadness and hope, and driving into a new neighborhood was exciting, allowing me to anticipate new experiences.

Among these moves, though, the turning point of my life was when I decided to move back to Korea in the third grade. It was a crucial choice, except how I chose to do so was based on my parents’ bribes: a four-day ticket to Disney World and a seat in the very front row of the airplane. I was so young, having no such maturity; I naturally neglected the fact that I had no life in Korea. Friends, gymnastics, church, soccer, Kool-aids, weekly outings to Ceci’s Pizza with my friends… Frankly speaking, I do not know if I would have moved back to Korea if I were to be given the choices again. Ten years having passed, would I be able to simply disregard my friends, my lack of ability to speak and write in Korean, and the apparent truth that I could not eat anything in the Korean cuisine, full of “redness?”

Swoosh, and the plane departed. It was then, though, when I finally came to my senses. Oops, too late to run off! I gazed at the land below where I had spent my last yet most memorable four years, where everything seemed so small, like connected pieces of LEGO. Soon enough, the plane was over the ocean and I was engulfed in big, white, and fluffy clouds. Everything was so white and so blue; it was pure, pulling out the honesty in me. Time to return to the reality, since the magical fantasy of the “Happiest Place on Earth” was over. The question whether or not I had made the right choice fogged my mind, numbing me to the bright surroundings. The first few weeks of my stay in America struck my memories, reminding me of how I had trouble saying absolutely anything in English. This was a critical problem, since I was and still am a person whose “thing” is talking. What about gymnastics? Ice skating? Shopping at Macy’s? Peeping at Swarovski jewelry in the display cases of Saks Fifth Avenue? Laura? Spencer? Captivated in my own bubble, I fell into seventeen long hours of thinking.

I was floating with time, along with the clouds that seemed to be doing the same. No one was bothering me, I had no such stress. I was in a limbo. Would Korea be like the States? Would I be able to come back? In a sense, I made a vital decision in an unbelievably simple and positive manner. I guess I just decided to adapt to the new environment, since I was already in the air. I mean, I could go back some day, right?

I am who I am now. Sure, it was hard at first. I had to learn Korean all over again, and I was quite often embarrassed due to my misunderstandings of words. It was not just a “move” like any other, as it involved a transfer between cultures. But I overcame them one by one, maturing in the process. I am told and do feel so myself that my multi-cultural experiences allowed me the not so common positiveness that I have.

Sooner than later, I will go aboard an airplane again and perhaps fall into another shift of time. Back to the United States, just as I had dearly wished for ten years ago. However, the passenger would no longer be the nine year old, immature yet innocent girl, but rather a passionate one who has firm beliefs but is still bright and positive. I will embrace myself in the clouds again, as a focused person who is ready to genuinely go towards her dreams. At this time, hopefully, the clouds will not be just white, but compact and dense with new people and a new community. So swoosh again, over the sea and into the clouds.