Say hello to Michael Jackson
"You must be new," he said in a smooth, yet husky voice. I nodded, not understanding what he was saying. "Well, you’re going to fit right in here with all those kids," he pointed with his salty, savory-smelling hotdog, adorned with just the right amount of yellow mustard.
"Yep, a lot of Asians around here. What are you, Chinese? No, no, don't tell me, you look like those Korean kids."
My ears and eyes perked up as soon as I heard the one word I knew, after just a couple of weeks in the US. "Korean!" I nodded again with vigor, while enjoying this new exotic smell now ingrained in my head. As I was ushered by small hands pushing me forward, I sat not too far from the bus driver, making him my new best friend.
When we moved to San Francisco, I never knew this whole new world existed. I was eight years old, spoke not a lick of English, and had only a bag of my belongings. My family of five included my dad, mother, older sister, younger brother, and me, the middle child.
When our plane descended into San Francisco, I pressed my face against the small window, my breath fogging the glass as I tried to catch my first glimpse of our new home. As I sat there, I remembered my friend saying goodbye to me before I left for the United States. She, giddy and happy for me, yelled out from the group, "Say hello to Michael Jackson."
As we stepped off the plane, the cool breeze of the Pacific northwest air greeted us, carrying with it the scent of salt and eucalyptus. My uncle, a distant figure among the bustling crowd, waved frantically as he spotted us, his face breaking into a wide grin. Watching him speak English was rapid and unfamiliar, but his gestures were warm and welcoming as he led us through the maze of corridors and terminals.
Emerging into the open air, we were swaddled by a thick blanket of fog that hung low over the city. I had never seen anything like it, this veil of mist that seemed to blur the boundaries between reality and dream. Driving through the streets of San Francisco, I drank in the sights and sounds of this strange new world.
We pulled up to our new home, a modest apartment building in the Sunset district, I felt a surge of excitement mixed with trepidation. My uncle lived in a small apartment, perfect for his family. There were 2 rooms, one for him and his wife and one for our cousin. They were kind enough to give us a room.
The room was almost a clean slate, no art or color on the walls, just a child’s bed and a couple of cots layed out for us to sleep in. Sometimes we shared the cots but other times we slept on the floor. But even the floor was a tight squeeze as we had our luggage to contend with.
The first night we arrived we had a exciting tour of the piers by the water, got to see the grand golden gate bridge, topping off the night at a pizza place for dinner. I distinctly remember hating the pizza, the taste of cheese made me gag since my virgin palate never had cheese. Everyone else loved every bite of it but I scraped the toppings from the bread and ate it naked.
For breakfast, my cousin indulged in cold cereal, a concept entirely foreign to me. I found myself longing for the comforting warmth of piping hot rice, spicy kimchi soup, and savory side dishes.
Everyone was relieved when a vacant apartment became available. Living with eight people squeezed into a small apartment brought about various challenges as you can imagine.
Our lives progressively started to move swiftly, our dad and mom found jobs right away once we moved to our own apartment. They both started working for another Korean family, pressing suits and steamed elaborate dresses we’d never be privy to. Working 12 hour shifts, we never saw them leave or enter the house.
My sister being the oldest had to look after us; but with not much to do we mostly graze all day out of boredom. Once someone gifted us a large box of oranges, it must have been as big as a milk crate- enough to hold us over for weeks. But three kids, and nothing to do and nowhere to go, we ransacked the whole box in one sitting.
My name is Hi, he said
Hi?! I smirked giggling a bit
“Yes, Hi!” He said again
Hi?! Me not believing him
The newly immigrant grew tired of my antics and asked what’s your name.
Slowly and sheepishly I replied “My name isa Hyun-Young-Jung…you call me Younga.
He nodded, and I looked back at him and said “Hi” again to make sure that truly was his name. He looked a little annoyed.
Luckily for the both of us an authority figure walked in, and sat across from us.
“What is your name? '' she nearly shouted slowly but friendly.
“My name is Hyun-Young-Jung” I mimicked her slowly and loudly.
“My name is Hi” he said shyly
“Okay, nice to meet you both” said the woman, she continued “Can you spell your name for me, here write it down”.
Looking over to Hi I give him a shrug, he slowly writes down his name, spelling Hi. I shrug again but this time to the lady in front of me. “Can you try, did your parents teach you your name?” she asks, I shrug again.
She takes her pencil and writes down my name for me. “You have to remember this from here on out. This is your name in English” I give out a little whimper as the name is so long compared to Hi. I glance at Hi, annoyed by her and him and try my best to write it down.
As I sat there, repeatedly practicing the spelling of my name, the image of my friend's kind face kept appearing in my mind. I felt frustrated and dumb. Not knowing how to spell my own name was a significant challenge, and it took several days of effort before I finally mastered it. When I eventually succeeded, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride, carefully counting the letters in my name and ensuring proper spacing. With a total of thirteen letters. That day, I found myself entertaining the thought that perhaps I would one day meet Michael Jackson and greet him with a confident "Hello” nothing was going to stop me now.
