I had a great, amazing, fabulous time in Korea, and most of the pictures I have shared as part of NaJuPicMo reflect that. But as with any trip of this kind, there were some not-so-great, not-so-amazing, and not-so-fabulous moments as well. These moments were like dark and shape-shifting shadows that I alternately tried to embrace and escape, each time with varying degrees of success.
I’ve written before about how adoption-related thoughts assaulted me everywhere from the aquarium to the fro-yo hangout — how everyone and everything I saw was a reminder of what could have (should have?) been me and mine. And if simply walking down the street or trying to be a regular tourist weren’t enough, I also actively sought out adoption-related activities:
- I saw a movie made by a Korean adoptee (and featuring an adoptee as the main character) at a film festival in Hongdae.
- I watched an adoptee from my orphanage appear on a national television search show looking for her family.
- I attended a panel discussion of adult adoptees who had reunited with their Korean families, and listened to them talk about the joys and challenges of being in reunion — experiences that I may never know for myself.
- I visited a home for single mothers and had a long talk with the director there about the changing status of single mothers in Korea.
- I visited the babies at an adoption agency and wondered which part of the world they would be sent to.
- I visited an orphanage and struggled with how most of the kids I saw were not actually orphans.
And this is to say nothing of my own search activities: the conversations with the good and helpful people at G.O.A.’L., the file review with the good but not-so-helpful people at my agency, the trip to my orphanage and to 대구 City Hall.
Near the end of this journey, I reached some kind of mental breaking point. I turned off the lights in my room and lay on the bed, preferring to stare at a blank wall rather than look at one more Korean face or see one more reminder of everything I had lost. But as my gaze swept over the semi-darkness of my surroundings, I realized that part of the difficulty of being in Korea was in my own head — my oversized, overthinking, oversensitive head. And all the seclusion and darkness (and distraction) in the world can’t save me from myself.
For some reason I grabbed my camera, perhaps realizing that these feelings and experiences were also a part of my journey. That I should honor and document them along with the sunshine and temples and palaces. When I look back at this particular trip to Korea I want to remember all of it, both the light and the shadows alike.
So here is my last picture for NaJuPicMo, taken near the end of my journey when the emotional weight of it all was dragging me down the most. Next to the ubiquitous black convenience store bag is a frequently reached-for box of tissues and a mug of usually-comforting 현미녹차. In the background are frosted panels of glass that look out onto a country I will never really know.
