Childhood thoughts

Culture has always been a major topic for me. I have a lot to say about it, if anyone has an ear to hear. But lately I have not been able to speak about it because of the deep pain interwoven with my story that makes me afraid that people will not want to hear it. I feel rejected when that happens, so I usually just shut down. A couple of trustworthy people I have told, but otherwise I have learned to be silent against my own will...But the power of narrative is that I can become free from all that I have experienced if I just let it out.

I don't even know where to start, but not all stories have a beginning and an end.

I was a happy child, sensitive and bright and always full of joy. All my Sunday school teachers expressed to me how I stood out because of my brightness. My parents told me that as a child, I was adored by everyone at church. I remember being so happy and full...I didn't even know I was Korean until a kid in 1st grade asked me if I was Chinese. I remember answering, "yes" and then coming home to tell my mom who corrected me. She was a hard, quiet lady from that time. I don't remember playing with her much, and she was always distant. She told me once that she didn't talk to me until I was 3 years old when I was singing incoherently to myself and she realized that I was singing the lullaby she sung me to sleep. I remember that song and how dearly I felt towards my mother, and how much I loved her.

Gosh, I loved her so much. I almost forgot that feeling.

The song that was really comforting, she would pat my back as she sung it and it was the most beautiful sound in the world and I always looked forward to that feeling. It was like being inside her heart and feeling the beats, like it was inside her womb. I was a part of her and could have carried the wounds within her and heal it, I knew I had that power, if she wanted to let me. She didn't realize that I was closer to the Great Power above that could heal her, and all she had to do was open. She thought because I was a child, she had to protect me from her emotions. Once in a while, my father would explode on her and then the source of that love would abruptly shut off. I loved my father too, so I just wanted him to be happy with us and love my mom. I remember even when he got really angry and pulled out his belt on me I knew I just had to bear it for a little while until he felt better. I always quickly recovered and showered them with hugs and kisses afterward. I just wanted to let them feel the love I felt.