Chapter 1-Stumbled On You
Stumbled On You
Crunch Crunch, God it's good to eat REAL food again, I think over the mouthfuls of Kimchi I'm mindlessly shoving into the black hole of my face, commonly known as the mouth. The roar of the plane's engine almost drowns out my favorite song ringing in my ears,
Ho....Hey! I belong with you and you belong with me...you're my sweetheart...
"Jay!" My mother's undeniably busan accent-laced voice echoes outisde my sweetly confined world, "HYUN JAE HWA!" she booms.
I tear out my headphones and turn to face her, "WHAT IS IT!?"
"We're here."
I look outside my window. Home, I think. I'm finally returning to Korea after 14 years. I can hardly believe this is the place I was born and raised for four years of my life. Speaking of which, I'm 17 this year. Technically speaking, 17 and a half. I'm home just in time to become an adult. Appa insisted we return to our "homeland", always talking about how desperately he missed it. Omma reluctantly agreed, and a month later, here we are, on a fourteen hour flight that will land us in Seoul.
The plane lands, and a pretty stewardess announces that we may unbuckle our seatbelts, and leave the plane. I look behind my seat to get a look at Appa. He's dazily staring out the window, his eyes all aglow with the light of remembrance, of home.
"Dad!" I yell, in my typical American, Chigaco-raised voice, "Time to get off!"
It takes two Taxi's and a Bus to reach our new house, right in the heart of the city. Passing the simple houses and apartments of the less fortunate, I'm a little glad we're well-off. At least I won't be sleeping in the same bed as a cockroach tonight.
Our new house is protected by a brick gate, Appa holds up a glimmering new silver key, and Omma and I give a drumroll before the gate clicks, and the metal door swings open. Our house is beautiful. A brick building with white trim, volumptuous green vines running up the walls, a window looking right out into the garden. Appa already had most of the furniture shipped, so we're almost half-way done.
We carry the few boxes we have with us into the house. Appa reveals a small can of red paint, and gathers us all outside.
"It's not our house until we mark our territory!" He says. Omma and i laugh, because this is a fond memory. This is what the Hyun family does.
Back when I was four, we moved to a house in Chicago. This place called America was foreign and uncomfortable. I didn't like the way the people looked at me, and I didn't like that I couldn't understand them.
Appa came to me, took me into his arms and said, "Right now, it doesn't feel like home, right?" I nodded.
"You see though, Jae-ah, we're going to make it ours."
"It isn't ours yet?" I asked.
He set me down, took my hand, and led me down the driveway. At the end was a stout little white mailbox. Omma came trotting down the lane carrying a pale of red paint. Carefully, Appa took my hand and dipped it in the paint, then told me to touch the mailbox.
I did it hesitantly, as if by touching it, I would somehow become it. I would somehow change. Two large, red handprints and their baby handprint on our mailbox made it ours. After that, I did change. I grew.
I learned English and got along with my classmates, I grew up.
"You remember, don't you?" Appa smiles at me.
"Of course," I smile back.
Now, somewhere in the heart of Seoul, there is a mailbox outside a brick gate. A mailbox with three, large, red handprints.
The Layout of our new house is peculiar, but I love it. My room is basically a lounge about the kitchen, with a small ladder leading up the a hole in the wall where I can crawl into my room. Of course for privacy matters, Appa had a red curtain installed to cover the doorway.
"Jae-ah!" Appa yells, I cast away the curtain and take the pail of white paint from him.
With my hands on my hips, I stare at my bedroom walls.
Black. Every wall is my favorite color, black. Of course black would be too boring. Black would make the nights even darker. So I take my paint brush and cover the walls with myself.
Myself in the forms of flying sparrows, music notes, and stars. Every piece of myself runs through my veins from my heart into the paint brush, and I paint.
When I'm done, and my grey T-shirt and denim shorts are completely ruined from the paint, I'm proud of my creation.
A trail of white sparrows flies from one wall to another. My guitar sits on it's holder proudly, surrounded by dancing musical notes. The ceiling isn't a ceiling, it's the sky. A night sky filled with dots of stars, even paper stars attached to strings I hung there myself.
Posters of American bands I adore are posted around my bed. Red curtains hang in the window, draping over my red window seat, more commonly known as "That window sill couch thing". I've never had one of those before now.
I look at the clock, 6PM. 3am in America. Wonderful. I set down my paintbrush and collapse in my bed. I hear my piano in the back of my mind, along with my guitar, softly calling me, begging me to play them.
"Tomorrow," I grumble, "Tomorrow."
And fall asleep.
****
Omma wakes me up, grumbling curses about the time difference, and jet lag. "Hurry up," she groans in Korean, too lazy for English, "School starts in 3 hours."
I jump out of bed. Oh my god, school. I've been accepted into Woollim Art School! The best music high school in all Korea. I even heard some of the celebrities under their label attend there!
My new uniform is not exactly my style, just a hint too girly, but I still love it. The navy blue blazer perfectly matches the golden patterned tie. The school emblem is sewn tidily onto the front pocket, and my name tag stands above it, reading in Hangul, Hyun Jae Hwa.
I run a brush through my hair slowly, taking in this moment. I giggle with the excitement and bunch up my blanket in my arms, only to throw it out with a sigh.
"Jae-ah! Hurry!" My mother shouts from downstairs. I grab my bag and duck under the curtain, carefully crawl down the ladder, and run for the kitchen.
Omma has prepared a traditional Korean breakfast for me. The beansprout rice is sweet in my mouth, that desperately longed for it's taste in a world of fast food and fried chicken.
Appa comes down, dressed in a suit and tie.
"Looking dapper, Dad," I bark (in English)over my breakfast, spitting out rice.
"We're in Korea now," Dad corrects me, "Don't use English to yell at your teacher!" He instructs.
"Of course!" I say, taking a swig of water, "Why didn't I think of that!"
Omma rolls her eyes and I hug her. Appa comes and takes both of us in his big, warm, arms. The same arms that I've depended on since forever.
I look at my watch, "Uh-oh! Gotta go!" I yell, and duck out of Appa's embrace.
I turn and wave as I run out of the house, Appa and Omma wave back from the kitchen window that overlooks the garden.
My rusty red bike has been transported from America, because I love it. It was a gift from my best friend, Kat. Whom I love.
Out of all the things in America that I had, I'll miss her the most.
I walk my bike out of the gate, then hop on. The gears screech and moan in protest of my weight, but I push them onward. The bike lurches into motion, and I pedal down the street.
The streets are unfamiliar, and even with the help of my phone's GPS navigator, I'm terribly lost.
I reach the school gates two minutes before the bell is going to ring. I chain my bike up with lightning speed before pulling my bag over my shoulder and bounding over the school gate, which was being closed by a very surprised security guard.
Since when are school courtyards this BIG? It seems like miles until i reach the school building. I stumble over a rock and continue to clumsily run. My bag slips from my shoulder, and I bend to pull it up, I only look away for a second....
BAM.
BAM.
I fall to the ground, thankfully landing on something soft. Something soft like, for example, a person.
"Oh no!" I yell, reminding myself I have to speak Korean, "Mianhe!"
The person I've landed on sits up on his elbows, and looks at me with gritted teeth, "Yeah, I'm fine. You?"
"Y-yeah," i stutter, looking at him then the school building. One minute until the bell.
"S-sorry! I gotta go!" I grab my bag, and run, leaving the stranger in the dust.
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