Return to Seocho-dong II - A New Hope

Some big news today - my host, who is graciously letting me stay rent-free at his apartment in Anyang, called a number I had given him to try to call the Hos, the family who we lived with in 1981-83 in Seocho-dong. By no small miracle, the number was still good, and he told them I was here in Korea and that I wanted to see them again. They were apparently very excited by this news, and wanted to see me as soon as possible. The anticipation of seeing them again was beyond words - again, a memory locked far away in a vault without anything tangible for a long time, until now. Very surreal. So, we got on the subway to Seocho-dong and I tried not to think about it too much - I was having trouble really comprehending it anyway. We got to Seocho and waited outside the station, where Mr. Ho was to meet us. I remembered he always drove this big black luxury car, and almost expected to see the same one pull up. Sure enough, he and Mrs. Ho pull up in a big black luxury car - which could just have well been the same one as the one 25 years ago, except for the fact that it was noticeably newer. There they are - memories transformed into tangible form once again - they look great, quite a bit older now, of course, but they don't look or seem "old." In fact, both of them are 75 years old now, but you'd never know. Mrs. Ho looks elegant, a beautiful, graceful face; Mr. Ho strong and agile, deftly dialing his cell-phone whilst navigating through Seoul traffic - normally I'd be annoyed as a passenger, but for him, well, it's all admiration.

They take me to lunch at the Hyatt hotel, overlooking Seoul - easily the best lunch I've had in years. All varieties of sushi, meats, Korean and Japanese vegetable dishes, steak, and a plethora of desserts are laid out on what must be a good 30 yards of tables. While we feast, we talk about the old times...I want to know all about the old neighborhood in Seocho, what their kids are doing now, Mrs. Che, who was Mr. Ho's mother and who helped take care of Margo and I in their house...I'm very pleased to find out that Mrs. Che is still alive, at 97, living in Atlanta no less. The neighborhood, they say, has changed - the house is no longer there (it was demolished four years ago to make way for a high-rise art gallery) and many of the places I remembered had been replaced by other things. I realize later how ridiculous my inquiries must have sounded to them...more on that in a bit. Anyway, their family is doing well, though eerily I can't seem to find out anything about the younger son. They ask about me, my parents and grandparents - I don't explicitly reveal anything about my parents being separated for six years now.

Later, we go to their daughter, Wan-ok's apartment and enjoy another reunion with her and her husband. It's wonderful to see them - Wan-ok's husband's good-heartedly relates a fond memory of me as a petulant kid who didn't want to be called a "boy." I can't imagine what was going on in my head at the time...

Their second daughter, Wan-mi shows up with her 13 y.o. boy - again, wonderful to see her again. Their features look just like I remember them, and they still look young. She has this great box of Korean pastries for me - her memory is spot-on - If she only knew how I searched high and low for those treats in the U.S. without much luck.

Then I get this idea - I'm picking up a wireless internet signal from somewhere, and I have Skype = call the U.S. for $.02 minute - it's 10:30PM Seattle time and my dad would be home. So I dial and sure enough he picks up - the mic is on my laptop and his voice is coming through the speakers as I pass it around to everyone. Here we are, all talking together for the first time in 23 years. It was technology at its best, working in its most satisfying form. And not a bad price, considering it was $8/minute back then.

We leave Wan-ok's apartment and the moment of reckoning has come - it looks like they've heard enough of me asking about the old neighborhood so that's where we're headed next. We pull off the main arterial and drive onto a side-street for a few blocks, and then stop. I'm not sure what we're stopped for, but then they tell me...this is it. I look around at the generic apartment buildings that surround me and can't believe my eyes. There's nothing there that bears any resemblance to what what once was. The house? It's that art gallery/apartment building, at least 10 stories tall. The playground? huh? The square? Surplus space. That doesn't exist here. The pond behind the house? riight. The hill...the hill must still be there. Hills don't just disappear. But here, they do. If it's there at all it's covered by apartment buildings. The neighborhood, as I knew it, is gone. The closest thing I have to a tangible memory are the Hos, the people with whom we lived. But the rest...just precious memories now.

Later it's on to dinner at Wan-mi's apartment, an excellent meal - I eat and eat, trying to finish the food, but every time it looks remotely like something might be getting close to being done, more gets heaped on the serving-plate. I realize it's a hopeless endeavor, so I give up, satisfied, and spend the rest of the evening watching soccer and pro-wrestling whilst enjoying a couple of cans of OB with Mr. Ho.

I'll linger over this memory for a while.