As an adoptee, I often hear stories about "connecting to your homeland". People often go back to their place of birth to try to identify with the place and the people there. There's a lot of people that think that being surrounded by similar looking faces might somehow help them find their identity. And, I too have believed these things. I entered South Korea hoping that maybe someday I'd meet the person who birthed me. I thought maybe being surrounded by Asian faces would help me find myself. I thought that no longer being "different" because of my Asian features would be comforting, that it would be something I needed. I've found it's quite the opposite.
To be completely honest, my first weeks in Seoul were not that fun. I was slow to make friends, and while I'm very thankful for the few I did make those first weeks, I was depressed and utterly lonely inside. I was disappointed in myself and in South Korea for not helping to feel "connected", for not feeling like I had found that South Korea shaped "missing piece" inside of me. I was upset that I wasn't seeing the changes I thought I'd make when I came here.
When I came here to Seoul, I thought my life would drastically change. I can't really word the type of expectations I had, but I definitely thought that something would become different about me. But, to be honest, not much has changed. I have the same worries and anxieties, joys and enjoyments. I have the same personality and general dislike for intensive academic lectures. I have the same distrust of weather forecasts and the same love of pizza and fried chicken. However, these might also be examples of consistencies. Perhaps some things about a person never change. Maybe there are things that, no matter how small, are meant to stay the same. Maybe the changes we see in ourselves aren't really even changes. Maybe they're just the consistencies of our lives slowly starting to emerge and show themselves in our daily lives. Instead of calling it a change, it's more of a growth. A flower is a flower even as a seed. It is no less a flower as a seed than it is when it's a flower. It just looks different. But it's still a flower.
The sunrise looks different every day, but it never actually changes. It rises consistently. The colors splashing the sky are never in quite the same array or pattern, but it always rises. It's always there. It never, technically, changes. It just looks different. Perhaps humans are the same way: we look different, but we're still the same. Not to say that we, as humans, cannot better ourselves. We can.
For most people, the sunrise might represent a new beginning, a fresh start. For me, the sunrise represents consistency. It reminds me that despite the chaos of life, that there is at least one thing that remains the same. The sun will always rise. To me, it doesn't mean that a new day makes everything better, but rather that there is a new day to continue living the life I already have.
While it's amazing to live in another country, it's nice to have that constant reminder that despite the fact that I'm on the other side of the planet, I'm still living the same life I live at home. I might not have the same daily routine I do at home, but my life is still the same. I'm still living as me. The sun that rises here in Seoul is the same sun that rises back home in Ohio. It's the same sun that shone when I was in London, Ireland, and India. And when I go back to Ohio in August, it's still the same sun.
I think the world has become so obsessed with "change". Look at President Obama's tagline from his 1st term campaign: "We are the change we've been waiting for". Change is viewed as good, as necessary for life. But is it really? I'm beginning to think not. Seoul may have brought about some appearance changes in me, but I still see myself as the same me. I don't think I've changed. Maybe people at home will think differently upon my return, but the more I spend time digging into my own thoughts ((what a scary thing that is)), the more I realize that maybe I don't need to change. Do we really need to change, or do we need to grow?
In English, we sometimes say, "Why do we have to grow up?" in reference to losing our childhood innocence, our hugely vivid imaginations, and our naive view of the world. But isn't growing a good thing? Isn't "change" really what we wish we didn't have to do? Growing doesn't mean you have to lose your vivid imagination. Growing doesn't mean you have to lose your optimistic outlook about life. It's change that makes you decide that you're "too old" for games and for optimism and imagination. But we don't have to change. We don't have to lose that imagination: that visionary thinking. In fact, aren't some of the world's most successful people often visionary?
South Korea is notorious for its impressively fast growth. South Korea went from being one of the poorest to one of the richest countries in the world in 30 years. They went from war ravaged to being in the Top 26. However, Korea, in a sense, hasn't changed all that much. The more I'm learning about this country and its culture, the more I realize that my idea that going to a country can change you is, quite simply, a silly idea. The country can't change you, but maybe it can grow you.
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