Loveboat in 서울

𝔼𝕡𝕚𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖

Seoul's Incheon International Airport is jammed with thousands of travelers, but this time, the frenzy feels friendly, not frightening. There are things I won't miss about Seoul—too many mopeds, body-licking humidity—but I've grown to love the people, the night market, the street food everywhere. I will the intensity of my Loveboat friendships and am thankful to have going forward. I will miss the anonymity of blending in, but perhaps I was never meant to blend in.

As for Hangul, I have a new appreciation for my parents' bilingual abilities. I still can't read more than a few dozen characters. But the signs, newspapers, magazines are no longer random symbols. They're full of significance: doors, eyes, hands, men, meat, water, hearts, dagger-axes, earth, rain, trees, suns and moons, wood, fire, power, gold, and short-tail birds.

For now, it's enough to know there's meaning there.

I walk beside Appa in his wheelchair, and put my hands on his shoulder, new for the both of us.

He places his hand over mine and smiles up. "Ready to go home?"

"I'm ready."

ʕु-̫͡-ʔुྉ*ᴸᵒᵛᵉᵇᵒᵃᵗ✲ﾟⁱⁿ*。⋆ 서울。⋆ *

I bring Sihyeon a third bo staff so we can practice with Appa, and I surprise Eomma with a small purple dragon fruit I smuggled inside two pair of socks in my suitcase. After years of being harassed by customs agents at the border, I figured she was due one.

Her normally stern face softens. "Suzy, it's my—"

"Favorite. I know." I smile. It's not a pearl necklace, but I can at least show I was thinking of her.

A few weeks after my return home, after my jet-lagged loopiness wears off, a jubilant reunion with Wendy and Nick, and a call from Jihyo—she's back in school thanks to us—I brew a pot of ginseng tea, and three cups on the kitchen counter.

"Eomma? Appa? Can we talk?"

At the dining table, Eomma looks up from her stack of bills. Appa closes his newspaper and removes his glasses, polishes them with the hem of his shirt, then returns them to his face.

In a summer of firsts, this is the first I've approached them with news of my own. I'd let them down in small ways all summer, though they will never know the half of it. I'd let myself down at times, too.

But I'm still standing.

And now, I'm ready to let them in the biggest way of all.

I slip into a seat across from them. "I did a lot of thinking in Korea," I say. "This won't be easy for you to hear, but I'm not going to University of Arizona in September."

Appa's glasses come off again. Eomma sets down her teacup.

"Sooji—"

"Please hear me out. I don't want to be a doctor. I've always known that deep down but was too afraid to acknowledge it." I smile. "I get vertigo at the sight of blood. Not the most auspicious beginning for a medical career."

"That shouldn't stop you—" Appa protests, but I put my hand over his.

"I could overcome that—you raised me that way. The real reason is—" I take a steadying breath. "I want to dance. I want to create dances. And I'm good at it. I'm going to take a gap year and work at Zeigler's as a dance instructor, and apply to dance schools and scholarship programs for next fall. I have a film of the dance I choreographed in Korea that I'll use as part of my applications."