The Lees

The Lee Family

“You smell that kids? That’s the smell of good air, amazing food, and great people”

“Dad, can you stop?”

The Lees have never moved houses in their lives before, yet here they are on the lawn of 4732 Mulberry Drive in a small town in New Jersey instead of their home in Seoul. Mr. Lee was the one who was the most excited about the move, as he hasn’t been home in years. When in Seoul, he looked like everyone there but everyone there could smell the imposter amongst them. The way that he didn’t know about the drinking culture within business, to speak respectfully to higher-ups… And despite telling all of his co-workers and his boss that he’s American and transferred from the American branch, they still look at him with embarrassment and speak of forgiveness yet never give it. After all, he looks like every other Korean, so why doesn’t he speak and act like one? American soul inside a Korean cage of flesh, the soul sings no songs and forever feels misplaced. At least, not here. Not on Mulberry Drive, in Mr. Lee’s childhood home. The house welcomes the family with open arms, eager to have occupants in it again. After all, what purpose does a structure have other than offer shelter to its inhabitants? Just like how benches built in a city are made to be sat on, houses are built to be lived in. The house has grown lonely over the years, ever since the last family moved out it’s been on sale for the last eight months and felt as if it was betraying itself from not being properly used. Every family that visited the house with the real estate agent loved the traditionally comfy design of the two stories, yet none of them bought them. It was only when word got around to Mr. Lee in Seoul did he immediately request a transfer back to the United States branch of his company and uplifted the roots of his family to replant them in Jersey, what he calls his home. Mrs. Lee thought that the move was an interesting choice, for she met Mr. Lee in New York and thought that it’d be a good change of pace for the children and healthy for Mr. Lee, who she could tell was sick of being in Korea. The children of the Lee’s, Sarah, and Joseph were less excited than their parents. Sarah still remembers when her father decided to ruin her life.

It was in the winter. Sarah had a long Adidas puffer jacket on, a popular choice for students her age. Like any other Korean high school student, she returns home at 9 pm from the tutoring center and waves hello to her parents after taking off her shoes at the front door. The Lees lived in a relatively nice apartment in a relatively nice compound. Most of her friends lived in the same building or the buildings beside the Lees. Upon entrance, the lights were off which she could tell was her family’s struggle of an attempt to be “surprising” for her birthday. Holding her breath and lifting her lips into a sideways crescent moon smile, the lights turn on and her family is in the living room with balloons and a cake.

“Happy birthday Sarah!” They shout. The sixteen-year-old girl found herself chuckling at how she could hear her brother’s distinct high pitch shrill of a shout above her parent’s voices.

“Guys, you didn’t have to do all this for me.” A lie. If her family didn’t do all this for their eldest daughter, Sarah would’ve been upset at them all for at least two weeks, maybe more if they don’t at least cook birthday seaweed soup for her. Holding her hands to her face to hide the smile (she tends to cover her mouth when she smiles since over-smiling makes Sarah feel ugly,) the family edges the cake closer and closer to her face—urging her to blow out the candles before the Lee family’s life comes crumbling down.

“If you don’t blow out your candles I will, Noona!” With a simple obnoxious verbal threat from her kid brother, Sarah puffs out her pink-tinted lips and makes a wish. The audience claps as if the teenage girl ended world hunger, and Mr. Lee clears his voice.

“I have big news too, it’s kind of like a birthday gift for you Sarah.” Could it be a new phone? Or maybe tickets to her favorite music artist’s live concert? Probably not, since Mr. Lee considers his daughter’s taste in music to be trash compared to classics like The Beatles and Nirvana. Everyone waits for the grand announcement. “Joseph—no, Mr. Lee Jr… Drumroll please.” The nine-year-old excitedly slaps the living room table with his hands, feeling pleased with himself that he’s been given the duty and responsibility of the dramatic sound effects for the big announcement. “We’re going to… America!” And there it is, the big news. Joseph and Sarah’s eyes widened to the size of peach pits as they both high fived each other in front of the television.

“When? Where? For how long?” The children ask, anticipating answers like New York! Or Los Angeles and maybe Florida? Perhaps even Hawaii if Appa thought they were extra good this year. Sarah did just come out as the second-best student in her class… That’s a pretty big achievement if anything.

“When? In three months--”

“Appa! I can’t go then…? Cause school starts—”

“Sarah! No interrupting. Ehem… Where? Eomma, would you take the honors?” A cheesy show for his nuclear family, Mr. Lee was acting as if he was the host of some trashy and outdated talk show.

“Mmhm! New Jersey, where Appa is from.” Mrs. Lee’s voice was smooth like honey, like sweets for after taking bitter herbal medicines. She had no problem with the idea of the move, and if anything, she can later brag about it to the other mothers in the church group chat on KakaoTalk. My husband and I are moving to the US, she’ll text the group, our children are enrolled in a private school there and Sarah will be aiming to go to Columbia University, and then all the other mothers will congratulate Mrs. Lee while behind their screens they’ll be overwhelmed with the feelings of bitter envy.

“What the heck is in New Jersey? There’s like, no Avenger from New Jersey.”

“Joseph! I’m better than any Avenger I don’t shoot spider webs out of my hands do you know how gross that is?” Both kids roll their eyes at their father’s poor performance of comedy. “Ehem! So, your last question might be for how long… Well, it should be obvious now but we’ll hopefully be there… Forever!” How selfish, both the children think but do not say. Instead, the firstborn held a tight smile with her lips closed and the naïve son cheered without knowing what other reaction he should have.

It took the family a month or so to get properly situated in the new house and community. It wasn’t as fun as Mrs. Lee thought it would be from the conversations she had with Mr. Lee in their former home. The first act of business was getting the furniture settled, the next was cleaning and then the third was learning more about the town and then the fourth was learning more about the cul-de-sac and then the fifth, the sixth, the seventh—it was a never-ending list of things to do and each task took incredible amounts of both physical and emotional strength. Sighing, the middle-aged Korean woman places her Americano coffee down on the island counter in the kitchen. The sun had just risen and sparkles joyfully through the clear windows of the house, it felt as if the house was welcoming the natural sunlight with open arms to help Mrs. Lee’s mood improve. Thankfully, a majority of the tasks are done now and she’s already met the insufferable neighbors. A majority are white families with little experience with cultures outside of the United States and Europe, while there was a little circle of Asian families, who have even smaller circles based on their ethnicities. The Chinese stayed with the Chinese while the Vietnamese avoided the Koreans and the Japanese would occasionally attend hangouts amongst the different families but like the Chinese, stuck mostly with their people—The Indians and all those who weren’t relatively fair-skinned or from East Asia had their own community and stay far away from the paler Asians. Funny; colorism seems to works within and outside of Asia, along with how there are so many different types of Asians yet to the common outsider they are expected to be some kind of united front. Instead, the Asians play little games of politics amongst themselves and fight for the fleeting feelings of security and supremacy (that are often tied together.) And then, there are the Asian Americans. Those with two cultures are a bit odd, for they worship how well they’ve assimilated into American culture and it often annoys all the other immigrant families, however, they are useful since they speak English fluently along with their native tongue. As next-door neighbor Mrs. Kim said: if you’re ever in need of assistance with the city council you should ask an Asian American father to speak with their American accents. In return, give them homemade kimchi or some sort of traditional cuisine, for although the Asian American’s flaunt their American minds, they crave a connection to their blood home. It’s a useful trick, and Mrs. Lee has used it a few times before once she met most of the Asian parents on the block, but she always felt as if she’s withholding memories of home to these Asian Americans and would much rather just have their families over to the Lees house to enjoy a homecooked meal with no ulterior motives. Another deep sigh. Tomorrow she has to attend a get-together with the Korean Christian Church women at Mrs. Kim’s house. The Korean women here are almost the same as the ones in Korea, perhaps even more competitive since they’ve made it out of the country. That being said, looking pretty and put-together accounts for a large amount of your reputation. Of course, some mothers don’t wear makeup or anything, but they still take good care of their skin and outfit. Mrs. Lee was the youngest and praised heavily—a few moms even asked what brand night cream she uses. Unfortunately, she’s long run out of her usual light cushion foundation. That could be fine and not so disastrous, but Mrs. Lee hasn’t had the time to visit the city due to all the errands she needed to run in the first few months. The house felt less and less like a house and more like the ground that an ostrich sticks its head into for safety. See, the thing about Mrs. Lee is that not only the society she grew up in relied heavily on physical appearance but Mrs. Lee has never gone out in public without her eyebrows carefully sketched on and lips perfectly hydrated. If anything, it’s one of the first lessons she taught her daughter when she became of age. Never skip out on your skincare routine and always look presentable, for how would anyone take you seriously if you don’t take yourself seriously enough to look good? The time that Mrs. Lee feels the ugliest is when she uses micellar water to wipe off her face. In the mirror, she does not recognize the woman who stares back, the woman with eye bags and signs of crinkles at the ends of her downward slopping almond-shaped eyes. And right now, she has nothing on her face and feels nothing like herself. She’s adopted the face she has created and disowned the one she was born with.

“Geez, Eomma… You look like you’re going through it… Is everything alright?” Sarah says, finally coming downstairs for breakfast before school. Sarah knows that when her mom doesn’t have makeup on, it means that something catastrophic is happening.

“I’m alright Sarah,” without her painted face, Mrs. Lee looks and feels a little different.

Mr. Lee throws his jacket over his shoulder as he hums a song that was once on the radio when he was younger. Buying the house is one of his greatest accomplishments. Reclaiming the ground and the very house he grew up in, the home looked the same as it did thirty years ago. The wooden stairs lovingly creak the same and the attic still has scratches on them from when he was seven and carved his initials on the side of the wooden support beams. How lucky he is, to use his own money and be able to buy the same house his father once did. However, the house wasn’t the only reason he ran towards the opportunity of finally being back home. Korea was suffocatingly respectful and strict, yet the food was indeed amazing—however, it could never top the food at Jessie’s Diner. He starts his first day at work on Monday, and so he decides to spend his leisure time at his childhood favorite all American restaurant. The fluffy pancakes in Korea were lovely, but they could never compare to the perfectly chewy hotcakes from Jessie’s, and no amount of Korean fried chicken can defeat the crispy buttermilk chicken at the diner, which you can smell before it even arrives at your table. With his car keys in his hand, Mr. Lee leaves the home empty. The house feels the lack of presence but knows that all members of the family will be back in the living room soon enough. The drive to the diner only made Mr. Lee even more excited. In Korea, he used public transport more than the family car, and so having a private vehicle where he can blast the music he loves feels sacred. Even the trees looked the same! Upon arrival, he makes sure to lock the car and prepares his empty stomach for the meal he’s about to eat. A pathetically flimsy sheet of A4 paper is taped to the glass door of the small diner. Squinting, the American born Korean reads the note and felt a wave of anger come and go. How could anyone let Jessie’s close down? Shaking his head, he grips onto the metal handles of the door and lets the cold steel and scent of fresh coffee soothe his soul. The server… obviously isn’t the same woman that waited on his family in the past, but she did her job and wrote down Mr. Lee’s order on a notepad. His eyes notice how the interior looks a bit worn out as the paint was chipping, and how the uniforms of the employees are pink now, instead of blue. But alas: this is Jessie’s!

“I used to come here a lot as a kid.” Mr. Lee chuckles, once the waitress finished getting down his order. Buttermilk fried chicken and waffles with a side of Maplewood bacon and a Coke float. The girl gave him what he could easily recognize (thanks to Sarah’s sarcasm at home) as a forced smile.

“Nice. Anything else you’d like with your order?”

“Uh… No, that’s it.” He isn’t sure what he expected as a response from the waitress and awkwardly gives the menu back to her. As he waits for his food, like any other hungry customer, Mr. Lee’s mind wanders. Seoul was fun, there’s no doubt. He had Sarah and Joseph in the hospital by the apartment, had his wedding ceremony in a small chapel near Mrs. Lee’s parent’s apartment, and loved how easy Korea’s modern technology made things. Moving back to Korea was what life had set for him. After proposing to Mrs. Lee, or rather, Ms. Jihyo Park, at a fancy restaurant in Manhattan, his extended family and her parents wanted the wedding ceremony to be held in Korea and the US. Thus, the first wedding with friends was in New York while the second was in Seoul. Then they just never left Seoul. He could tell his wife felt at home in Seoul and loved how she knew everything there, plus his salary wasn’t too bad either. There was no reason to leave, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and had enough of his wife’s home. Now, he’s truly home. The waitress slides the dish of… A significantly smaller portion of chicken and waffles than he remembered, and hands him his beverage. The first bite wasn’t the same as usual, the waffles were a bit soggy from the heat and oil of the chicken and the meat was significantly tougher than what he was used to. For a second he felt as if he was back in Korea eating at a mediocre restaurant his coworker chose during their lunch break after Mr. Lee got scolded for his bad manners at the meeting in the morning. For a moment, home didn’t feel like home anymore, and he’s just at a restaurant that’s about to go out of business in some small town.

Adjusting to school life in Jersey wasn’t too difficult for Sarah. High schoolers around the world are the same, the only changes she had to make was wearing her makeup a bit different. Everything else was relatively the same as in Korea, but a little more lenient. Girls wore shorter skirts, and boys are more straightforward here. She’s already found herself a small clique of primarily Asian girls, all of them study relatively well and a few were even fans of Korean music. If anything, school is easier in the United States. Academically, things are still somewhat competitive, but not to the extent that they were in her old high school. The people here like rap music and pasta more than Kpop and spicy rice cakes, therefore Sarah likes rap music and pasta. House parties and dating is huge here, and so Sarah goes to parties at the houses of people she barely knows and casually flirts with boys who show interest in her. It’s not the first time she’s had to adjust to the people around her. The only thing that’s every spread across the school about Sarah is the fact that it’s a bit nerving how seemingly perfect she is; her hair is always curling up in the right direction and she never worries about upcoming tests. Today, she wakes up with a hangover. High school teens know nothing about soju or having Korean fried chicken with beer and prefer to drink out of red plastic cups with terribly alcoholic tasting alcohol. They like to shout over music and run the second they hear sirens approaching. Last night, to prove that she isn’t too uptight (although nobody ever said she was,) Sarah got a bit drunker than she wanted and tried weed for the first time. Her vision shook more than she liked when she got home last night and all she could think about at the time was how much American Sarah isn’t Korean Sarah and neither are truly Sarah Jiwon Lee. Her mother opened the door with a frown, but also knew that this was the only way her daughter can camouflage herself into the people here. First, blend in, then be better than all of them. These are the rules the women of the Lee family live by. Thankfully, Mr. Lee wasn’t home last night and so Mrs. Lee simply silently opened the door for her intoxicated daughter and led her upstairs. Once Sarah was tucked in, her mother began her lecture.

“Jiwon Lee… You—you should’ve controlled yourself better. What if you did something dangerous? Or embarrassed yourself? And look at yourself. Have you looked into a mirror?” Oh the mirror, Sarah thinks to herself, the mirror that only lies to both you and me.

“Eomma—no, fuck we’re in America now, aren’t we? Call me Sarah, Mom.” The family uses both English and Korean when they converse, yet this is the first time a parent is referred to in English. “This is just how kids here act, and this is how I eesss—” before Sarah could catch herself, she was already over-enunciating each syllable. “sssstablish my position here. This isn’t Korea.” The girl awkwardly waves her arm around, as if it would take away her mother’s worries and concerns.

“You’re right Sarah, this isn’t Korea. This is the United States, somewhere you’ve never been before other than when you were three and this is our new home. This may not be Korea but you’re still Korean and my daughter. Don’t risk your wellbeing for such stupid reasons. You’re embarrassing right now.” Ouch, harsh words mother. The lights flicker in the house, and Mrs. Lee curses under her breath, another errand to run. Now, the two women are in a pitch-black room in the suburbs. Both, have carefully crafted their appearance, although one hates it and the other loves it. Suddenly sober, Sarah Jiwon Lee did not bite her tongue back this time.

“But Mother, aren’t you the one who taught me this?”

~

“The swings! Doyoung! Come over here! Let’s try ‘em out and see if they’re still the same from when I was a kid!” shouts Mr. Lee, waving over his son, Joseph Doyoung Lee. Although Sarah goes mostly by Sarah and sometimes Jiwon if Appa and Eomma are upset, Joseph is almost always referred to as Doyoung and he likes it more that way. New friends at the elementary school prefer to call him Joseph though, which only makes the boy feel confused sometimes, especially when the teacher calls him and Doyoung sometimes forgets that he’s called Joseph here. Running over to his father with his new Nerf gun, the boy sits on the swing set and his father immediately gets that it’s Appa’s cue to push his son as hard as he can. Boys will be boys, and for once, New Jersey doesn’t seem so miserable anymore. Doyoung didn’t think the move would be hard, for the only person who wasn’t excited was Sarah. She pretended she was, but everyone could tell it was an act, just like when she said she didn’t need her family to celebrate her birthday the way they did. What Doyoung didn’t expect, was for the kids to be so different from himself. They didn’t know about the webcomics he liked, nor did they want to try the snacks his Eomma packed him. If anything, Doyoung felt outcasted by the children his age. Only one other kid was fully Korean and understood the culture, but she didn’t want to give up her hard work in making herself American and ignored Doyoung when he called her by her Korean name instead of her English name. Appa noticed immediately when Doyoung came home that he was upset, and so that’s why the two are playing on the swing set now.

“Doyoung-ie, Appa has to take this call. I’ll be right back.” That was the first mistake, to leave Doyoung by himself on the swing. Actually, maybe the first mistake was moving to New Jersey on such short notice. When Mr. Lee returned to the swing set in the front yard of the house, the seat on the swing was empty. Sure, the move was difficult but at least the Lees had each other. Not anymore. The empty swing sits still, there is no wind and no neighbors to ask where Doyoung could be.

Now, it seems like their home is truly lost.

A/N: another piece I wrote for a final. I feel like it's a bit rushed but I also had to work with a word limit.... The prompt is about the concept of home: within ourselves or the environment. I focused my piece on the lack of home and how it can be taken from us, through all elements.