I was expecting albums archived on some shelf somewhere, but what I instead got were a series of boxes. Inside one box were stacks of photos, neatly organized in plastic pouches, by theme. In another, a medal of honor issued to her by the Korean president for her years in education. In yet another, a series of my dad's jr. high school yearbooks, with names written out in Chinese characters.
She did have one album, which was from her retirement ceremony. This one was given to her by Ewha Women's University and consisted of a series of photos of people I don't know wearing hanboks, and her giving a speech in some fancy hotel banquet hall. She had apparently been Dean of the Graduate School at Ewha in the late 80's. That was news to me.
"You mean Dean of the English department."
"No, Dean of the Graduate School."
"Oh."
It's so strange seing pictures of your parents or grandparents from when they were younger, seeing the full life they lived. I've always seen my grandma as my grandma, and kind of forgot that she had a life outside of the context in which I know her. I've always known her post-retirement, and I used to wonder what she would do all day, living on her own.
But as I flipped through one photo after another, here she is living this full, vibrant life, full of friends and students and family. Here's a stack of her traveling the world with her fellow English professors, or teaching students, or studying abroad at U Mich, or attending some conference of graduate school deans. She is the only woman at the conference.
The photos are worn, and there's a mix of shapes and sizes. Some are sepia, some are black & white. Others are color but the vintage square print kind, with rounded corners. But mostly, there are the 3x5s. The photos are all curled in such a way, where the corners tinge upward. I wonder where these are taken, but she can't seem to remember the answer to each and every question I pose. Luckily, a few have dates and locations scribbled on the back.
I'm milling through a stack of travel photos. Here's one in front of the Notre Dame, another along the Thames. Hey, I recognize those pebbles on the beach - Nice! Some biergarten in Germany. I have never seen my halmoni take a sip of alcohol in my life. But here she is, holding up a litre of beer.
"And halmoni, is this Monaco?"
"No, I've never been to Monaco before."
Thirty-some-odd prints later, I casually flip one over, and it is indeed marked Monaco.
"Oh, I guess I have then."
There are many places I don't recognize. Stockholm, Cannes, somewhere in the Alps, parachuting in Thailand. Who is this person?
There's a stack labeled with my dad's name. Of him in school uniform or hiking with his buddies, his friends are smoking. There are ones from grad school in North Carolina, even ones with long-ish hair, typical of the 70's. And then there's my favorite one:
There's just something about this that I love. A side of my dad I've never seen.
And then there are the engagement and wedding photos. How happy and young they look, and how lovely my mom was. They must have been younger than I am now. Who are these people?
And then I come to a Kodak envelope with my old address written on it. My family has lived in the same house since I was five. This was from before. I've never seen these before.
There's this photo of me when I was, like, five years old. I have no recollection of this moment or where this was taken, but it's just hilarious.
A freeze-framed shot of me, absolutely miserable, sitting next to my grandma and grand-aunt (great-aunt?). What a brat I must've been, probably refusing to say cheese for the camera, while my grandma smiled on. How my parents probably dragged my ass along anyway.
And then there's three year old me staring inquisitively at a peahen that had wandered into our backyard:
The childhood I don't remember. But how full of love.
Conspicuously missing is any trace of my grandfather. He's not there. But I'll get to that later.
