The holidays feel a lot like the experience of opening a bunch of presents. Some you’ll feel uncomfortable with, some you loath getting again, and others turn out to be the thing you never knew you wanted. Not to mention it being the COVID remix version, I’m anticipating this holiday track to be a rough one because this is always the time that I have to be with my family in Korea.
A little bit about me, I came to Boston from LA, California where my parents immigrated in ‘82. Born and raised there with my brothers, I called LA my home until several financial crises pushed my parents to move back to Korea. They moved when I was in middle school, and my eldest brother moved there a year ago to be with them. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy trying to navigate my own Korean-American identity let alone maintain the sense of family that seems to elude me every year. Where I was born was formative, but so is Korea where my parents have re-made their lives. My parents are Korean but can’t deny how America has been formative for them. They were born in Korea but are considered foreigners there and need a visa to work there (they had to give up their Korean citizenship to be naturalized in the U.S). Many aspects of both Korean and American culture I hate and love, and both work to confuse and cement our family cohesion. It’s a lot, and I find myself erasing parts of me to make it work.
It’s the emotional build (not to mention the debilitatingly long flight) that becomes associated with the colder weather for me. People are getting ready to get cozy and settle down while I feel the tug of war that is self-erasure and adaptation. Not to mention, COVID poses several logistical obstacles and internal anxieties that challenge whether or not it’s really worth it to make the trip.
However, based on past experience, all of this swirls in my brain up to the moment I see my parents’ faces. The doors open and I run into their arms holding back tears I never knew were there. We hold each other’s faces and I feel my dad’s rough hands in mine as we make our way to my other home. We spend so much time apart that I forget that in the end I still have the choice to make them my family. And if a chosen family can look like anything I’ve experienced in intentional community here, then *half smile* I think that sounds pretty damn good. Of course 40P intentional community is not perfect--not even close--but it has taught me that being intentional with people you want to love can transform any community. So something I feel uncomfortable with: re-familiarizing myself with my family. Something I loath getting again: frustrations with culture and identity. Something that turns out to be something I never knew I wanted: A love for the process to truer self and community.
“My name is Joyce! I love contemplative practices, laughing at my own jokes, and creating digital art. This reflection on December has been a lifelong one, and I hope it helped you in whatever way you needed”