08/11/2023
I’m reminded this week of the power + importance of photos. My beloved 할아버지 passed away and we are remembering his life this week with family. We looked through old photo books and saw little snapshots of his life. My dad shared what stories he knew of my grandpa’s childhood in Korea and the memories he had of his own childhood with him.
Being second-gen Korean is a beautiful and heartbreaking thing. There are so many stories and memories that I haven’t had access to - primarily due to a cultural barrier. Perhaps it’s different in Korea now, but in our family, we have lived in a culture of silence. Or perhaps, simply one of quiet love - where love is shown through loyalty + actions, but not often spoken. Where stories are not shared freely, but respect + honour are held as sacred spaces. Even the stories my grandfather did write down are primarily in Chinese calligraphy - not Korean. The result of Asian colonialism.
His brushstrokes are unfamiliar to me, yet so familiar in the sense that I have watched him pick up his brushes and paint beautiful, elegant lines from my earliest memories. Painting names and stories I will never know with gentle hands that I know so well.
And the photographs left behind show me glimpses of a life richly lived in two countries - filled with so many stories of love and heartache, struggle and beauty. I’m grateful for these photos that capture these moments in time that would otherwise be completely lost and forgotten.
There is so much I don’t know about his life - so many stories I wish I knew. But I know this man. My 할아버지. His gentle, big generous heart. The way he said “사랑한다” so freely and sincerely as I grew older. The joy he would express while hugging my boys. The patience he had as he gardened daily. The care he took in packaging up 도라지 seeds to share with me because he knew I loved them. The way he would sit in peaceful silence with us - content in just being together. The love he had for our whole family. The hope he had to be reunited with my 할머니.
사랑해요 할아버지.