Learnings on Loss & Discovery in My Parent’s Immigration Story

Published 03/23/2023 in Scholar Travel Stipend

Written by Michelle Park | 03/23/2023

Over dinner one day in Los Angeles, my mom told me a story about my great-grandparents. They lived in the countryside of South Korea as farmers and fishers, waking up at dawn to begin their work. Their daily lives differed quite a bit from my life in the states, and this contrast made me curious about what changes my parents had experienced in immigrating to the states. I also wondered what lessons their journey held in the larger context of the American dream. To explore my questions, I flew to South Korea with the support of the Milken scholars travel fund and documented my learnings.

Upon arriving at Incheon National Airport, I took the bus to Gwangju— my mom’s hometown in the southwest corner of South Korea. For two weeks, I stayed with my uncle in Gwangju, and there, I met the people and places that shaped my mom’s environment before she moved to the states. One of my first stops was Chonnam National University (전남 대학교), where my mom studied English Literature in her 20s. As I walked through the campus, I realized how much invisible context is stored in a physical location. Every statue and fountain we passed by evoked memories from my mom that I had never heard before, from recounts of favorite books to acting with her friends in the theater club. Each building also contained specific memories about her life as a student, and I realized that the physical spaces we embody store precious information about our daily lives. For my parents, moving to a new country meant losing reminders of that context and the stories they evoked about their past.

In exchange for this loss of context, however, I also saw that my mom had attained new stories about life as an American— stories we shared with our relatives in South Korea. My cousins’ eyes widened as my brother and I spoke of our college experiences in the states, and my mom shared Blue Bottle coffee from the U.S. with my aunt, who marveled at how great it tasted. To my joy, everyday pleasures we enjoyed in the states became delightful stories we could share with our relatives. For my mom, immigrating to the states led to the loss of a past context and the gain of a new one.

Next, I realized that immigrating to the U.S. meant accepting a place in between two homes, not quite belonging to one country or the other. I saw this in my family’s interaction with locals in my mom’s hometown. For example, I visited a local nail salon that my aunt liked in the area with my mom and brother. Upon arrival, my mom chatted with the salon owner and left me to my appointment to visit other shops in the area. As I sat down, the nail technician promptly asked what country we were visiting from. I was surprised that she noticed we were foreigners, given that we were dressed in basic fashion and my mom had spoken in perfect Korean. I told her we came from the United States, and she pleasantly exclaimed that she could tell immediately—that we all looked like Americans. From this example and others like it, I realized that my mom was now noticed as a foreigner in her birth country after decades of living in the states. In addition, back in the United States, she experienced life as a first-generation Korean American, along with all the uncertainty this brings as part of the minority. With this understanding, I realized that immigrating means placing a foot in two worlds, and confronting both the adventure and loneliness that comes with it.

Further into my visit, I also noticed differences in family dynamics across the United States and South Korea. For instance, in observing how my distant relatives in Korea interacted with one another, I realized that family was at the heart of most tasks in South Korea. For example, almost every event in my uncle’s life was a large family endeavor— distant relatives would come by to pick up my cousins for school, and every business venture was a large family effort. In South Korea, family served as a vast network of support and shared understanding, similar to being born into a massive alumni group. This stood in sharp contrast to my experience in America, where my mom, brother, and I were largely independent in our day-to-day life, even while we cherished spending time together.

In addition, some evenings after my cousin came back from school, I chatted with my cousin about his schoolwork and our goals in life. Where I pointed to individual ambition and global service, my cousin pointed to family bonds and individual excellence. Our world views were two sides of the same coin— distinct, similar, and of equal value. In particular, family was an incredibly grounding force for him, and he took inspiration for his career and life goals from his family. I found this interesting, because I had always been encouraged to find my own path instead— to aim further and higher than the generations before me rather than model them. In each conversation I had with my relatives in South Korea, I found a deeper appreciation for my own history and the milestones reached by the generations before me.

As a whole, my trip to Gwangju, South Korea, helped me understand the changes my parents experienced in their immigration to the United States. From shifting family dynamics to changes in context and identity, I grew more deeply aware of what was lost and found in their pursuit of the American Dream. Furthermore, in my mom’s relationship with our relatives in South Korea, I saw signs of my own heritage, and the part I now play in the larger story of my family’s journey. Overall, my research in Gwangju showed me that loss and discovery are both present in reaching for the American Dream, and that these changes can impact generations to come.