Tag: mother

Matchmaking

Even up to my generation, the marriages in Korea were somewhat arranged. It is not that one has no choice in the partner. It is just that the choices offered were not usually through what one would consider the normal channels in the U.S. (e.g. meeting at work, clubs, bars, etc.).  I am sure much has changed within the last few years, but even until fifteen or so years ago, there were many matchmakers in Korea, some formal, some informal. What do I mean by formal matchmakers? Well, these are women whose actual job is to make matches. They investigate people of marriageable age, details such as the education level, salary, family roots, astrology, etc. Then they act like a dating service, almost like an online dating site nowadays, except no one can lie on the personal profile.

Then there are more “informal” matchmakers. These are women who introduce couples, but they don’t make money. They just happen to know a lot of people and are very good at matching them, like my mother for example. She used to be a teacher, so practically all of her students she taught were of marriageable age up to about fifteen years ago.

In the historical past, the matchmakers did a similar job. They would travel through many cities or towns to find out about marriageable men and women (usually this was for noble families) and would match up families together. The difference between history and more recent time is that the couples now have choices. Before, the parents made the match and that was pretty much it. Most couples did not even get to see their spouse prior to the actual marriage ceremony.

According to my mother, matchmaking nowadays is passing background information to both parties and the contact information. Then if both parties feel like trying each other out, they would meet on a first date. If the couples hit off, they would come and visit my mother with a small gift or drop by to say hello together.

My mother used to jokingly tell me that if I were in Korea, she would have three truck loads of men to match me with. Of course, that is complete nonsense since I am too independent, too educated, and too westernized for most Korean men.

Poet Revisited

My mother is a poet and an intellectual, but she spent many years not actively writing because as a married woman in Korea, she did not have as much freedom to do so. As a person who feels the urge to write constantly, I can imagine how it feels to have to block out that feeling. Living in the U.S., I am not as limited by the role of a woman, but the reality regardless intrudes and I am forever pushing my writing behind the day-to-day life. Writing poetry only feeds one’s soul, no? And the reality wins out…

I initially started writing poetry when I was a teenager, but abandoned it because…I am not sure why. Perhaps I felt poetry came too easily to me, which meant I was not good? My reasoning for stopping is very convoluted. Instead of poetry, I spent most of what little writing time I had on writing stories. The result is that I have not written a single poem for many years. Now full of nostalgia, I start again…like my mother who picked up her pen again as she got older.

Below is a short poem written in English, translated to Korean as best as I could.

When I close my eyes,
What do I see?
Faded memories,
Grey and melancholic.
And I hear a song
that I had forgotten.
My heart sings to me,
Of love and sadness.
When I open my eyes,
That song fades away,
And my heart is forgotten.

눈을 감 으면
저에게 무엇이 보일까요?
색이 바랜 추억들,
회색의 향수.
그리고 내가 잊었던
노래가 들려 옵니다.
내 마음이 제게
사랑과 슬픔에 대한
노래를 한답니다.
하지만 눈을 뜨면
그 노래는 사라져 버리고
내 마음은 잊혀집니다.

Last Train out of Seoul

On 25th of June 1950, Korean war started with the invasion from the North. After the temporary American military government left several months before, Seoul had already been full of northern sympathizers. My mom was only about five years old, but she remembers the invasion. She recalls seeing tanks, but I am not sure whether that is a real memory or the memory of what she thought she had seen. My grandfather had already been taken by then, a story for another post. There was my grandmother and her three daughters, my mom being the last child.

My grandmother knew they had to flee the city as the North Korean army was very close to the capital where they lived. Before 28th of June, my grandmother was contacted by her cousin who worked at the Seoul train station. My grandmother’s family had been quite rich and influential then so she was able to secure a place for her family on the train leaving Seoul.

My mom remembers packing her small rectangular suitcase, a foreign import that not many people could afford then. Once at the station, my grandmother’s cousin provided them with sitting spots inside the train. My mother remembers sitting on the train seat with her suitcase under her feet. So many others had piled in standing up or on top of the train. Even those people on top of the train or holding onto the side were lucky as everyone else had to flee the capital on foot.

So one of the last trains from Seoul left with my mom and her family, crossing the river on one of the few bridges across Han river.

And on the 28th of June, at 2:30 am, Korean army blew up the bridges across Han river in a desperate attempt to slow the invasion. Only, no Seoul residents were told that there would be no escape for them afterwards…