James Han Mattson - Mirror Image

 

 

When I was 17, my North Dakotan parents sat me down at the dining room table and showed me a letter from my birth family. I didn't know how to respond to this, because I tried so hard to erase that part of myself. I'd been adopted at age three from Korea. And I didn't really know anything Asian, let alone Korean. And at school, I often got teased because of my race, so I distanced myself from my race, seeing Asian as something to be mocked and ridiculed. It got so difficult that I had trouble looking in the mirror. What I saw wasn't what I wanted to see, so I avoided the image altogether. 

 

Well, my parents, they sensed that something was wrong, and so they actually wrote a letter to my adoption agency thinking that the problem stemmed from those first few years of my life, those unknown years. Well, my birth family actually wrote back. And so, at the dining room table, my mom hands me this letter along with these pictures. And I'm stunned. But I take the letter and I take the pictures and I look at the pictures and I think, these people look weird. They don't look anything like me. They can't possibly be related to me. 

 

I read the letter, and it says that I have three birth siblings, two sisters and a brother. It says that both of my birth parents are deceased. It also says that I have a birth grandmother, and this is the person who actually physically gave me away. What had happened, is that after my mother's death, my grandmother had gotten custody of all four children. She just couldn't handle it. And since I was the youngest, I was the one who was given up. 

 

Well, my mom leans into the table and she says, “Isn't this amazing?” I don't really know what to say. I don't really respond, because I feel like this is just another part of me that doesn't belong. And besides, all these people come from a land full of Asians, and I couldn't imagine anything worse. [audience laughter] But still, I take the letter, and I take the pictures, and I stuff them in a drawer and I don't think about them for a while. 

 

Well, I get older, I go to college, I have experiences that open myself up to my own race. So, I become curious about my birth family. I find the letter and I write one of my own. And what transpires is this ongoing communication between myself and my English-speaking birth sister, Mi Kyung. And she is the closest to me in age. What also happens as a result of this ongoing back and forth is that this new identity develops inside of me. 

 

I am a Korean person, I think. Korean language, Korean culture, Korean food, it's all embedded in my DNA and it just needs to be unlocked. It's the American side of me that's a sham. And if I go to Korea, I know that I'll be welcome with open arms, I'll finally find a place where I belong. And so, at age 31, I decide to take the plunge and move to Korea. 

 

Well, the flight is pretty grueling. It's 14 hours, so it's a delight to see Mi Kyung's face smiling at me at the airport. We hug and it's like old friends meeting because we've been in communication for so long. Well, I stay with her and after I get over my jet lag, she says that she's invited the other siblings over. And this makes me very nervous because I haven't had any direct communication with them. 

 

Well, first to come is Mi Hyun. And she's my elder, elder sister. And she's this very energetic, very vivacious woman. And she just comes barreling through and she takes one look at me and she just bursts into tears. She says, “Jung Hyun.”  Jung Hyun is my Korean name. She says, “Jung Hyun. We have the same face. We have the same face.” She takes my hand and we go into the bathroom and we look in the mirror. Something that I hated doing as an adolescent, but something that I now find emboldening. And we compare eyes and eyebrows and cheeks and cheekbones, and they're a match. It's remarkable. 

 

A few minutes later, my brother comes in, Kwang Hyun. And he doesn't look anything like me. He's tall, he's thin, he has a really long face. And as soon as he sees me, his face cracks and he has to leave the apartment. Well, when he comes back, his eyes are all red and puffy and he opens his arms and I fall into his embrace. And it's one of the safest places I've ever been. Well, as is Korean custom, we, my siblings, give me a gift. And this gift is a gray T shirt with a whole bunch of nonsensical English phrases written all over it. [audience laughter] Across the top, in big letters, are the words, premium stylish man clothing. [audience laughter] I don't like this shirt, but they do. So, I put it on. 

 

And that afternoon, we talk and the conversation veers towards grandmother. And it's decided that I need to go see her. I need to meet the person who actually gave me away. So, we all pile into my brother's car, and we head to his apartment where grandmother lives. And on the way there, my heart is racing and my stomach is fluttering, and I just don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can actually go see the person who changed my life so dramatically. 

 

When I get there, I don't know if I can go through with it. And I tell them, but they gently urge me in. And I finally walk in. I walk down this long hall, and to the left, there's a small bedroom and on the floor of the bedroom is my grandmother. My grandmother is just looking at the floor. Mi Kyung comes up beside me, and she says, “Grandmother, this is Jung Hyun.” Grandmother looks up. And at first, she's very confused, but then dawning crosses her face. And as soon as it does, she crawls across the floor because she can't walk. When she's at my feet, she just looks up at me, opens her arms and lets out the most terrific scream. 

 

Well, I kneel down into her embrace. She starts batting at my back and scratching at my shoulders and screaming, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” I don't want to be there. I feel frustrated. I think of all the ways that she's upended my life. But I also feel the remorse in her shudders. And so, I end up holding her tight. 

 

Well, despite all these dramatic episodes, I do enjoy spending time with my birth family. And I enjoy being in Korea. I like the fact that I blend in. I like the fact that in Asia, there's no such thing Asian. [audience laughter] And I like the fact that, my birth family just wants to be a part of my life. And so, I think maybe I can make this a home. But then, the food, the food, which I love, but that's covered in red pepper. And this does a number on my Midwestern stomach. [audience laughter] And I developed the beginnings of an ulcer.

 

Also, Korean dramas and K-pop, while entertaining, just don't do it for me. And I seek out more Western entertainment. But most importantly, every time I open my mouth and speak my remedial Korean, the person on the other end shuts down. They either say nothing, or switch to English or just walk away. And this happens over and over and over. And so, my days become this series of rejections, both on my part and on theirs. And this is very difficult for me, because here I was two years in, and I hadn't really made any progress in becoming a Korean person. But still, I wanted to try. 

 

So, on Chuseok-- Chuseok is a holiday that a lot of expats compared to Thanksgiving. We are all at my brother's apartment, my siblings, my sibling’s kids and my grandmother. We have this delicious meal. And after the meal, my brother's son comes up to me. He's 10 years old. He starts speaking in English. I find this very endearing, because he hasn't really spoken to me this whole time. He's been too shy. Well, he goes and plays with his cousin. I lean into Mi Kyung and I say, listen, he's doing a really good job. If you want me to help tutor him, I would be more than happy to. 

 

I get stopped midsentence, because from the corner of the room, my grandmother is falling into hysterics. She's pounding the floor and she's saying, “You are a Korean person. Speak Korean. You are a Korean person, speak Korean.” The room falls silent, and I feel this well of anger in my chest and I have to leave the apartment. I know then that I'm not Korean enough for Korea, and I might not be Korean enough for this family. That starts the beginning of the end of my time in Korea, and I leave just a couple months after that. 

 

When I get back, everything is much easier. Daily interactions don't take on any significance, because everything is familiar and relationships are just much easier to forge. But the moment I get back, I once again feel conspicuous. And I realized that in America, I will always be a hyphenated individual. Not simply an American, but always an Asian-American. 

 

My grandmother died in 2013. I'd had some time to distance myself from it, so I wasn't angry anymore. I knew that what she'd said had come from a place of immense guilt. But I did grieve. I grieved not just for her, but for myself, for what could have been and for perhaps what should have been. Today, I don't consider myself fully Korean, but I don't consider myself fully American really either. I see myself as a complicated combination of the two. That combination used to repulse me. And I'll be honest, sometimes those feelings do come creeping back. But I'm doing much better now. I am still in contact with my birth family, although over the years, those relationships have cooled. 

 

What matters to me now is that I'm living a current life, that I've confronted my past and that I've accepted it with all of its ambiguities. And because I've done this, when I look in the mirror now, I don't see something to be mocked or ridiculed. I see this interesting bundle of complexity. And because the world is this infinitely complex place, my face fits right in. Thank you.