Coming to America & my life - chapter 1

In my life, I've weathered many a storms with violence.  It started with the physical fights between my mother and father, and then some fights between uncles and my dad...  down to physical abuse, mental abuse, and emotional abuse directed at me as a child.  In our culture, there is nothing wrong with hitting your children and everything wrong with loving them too much.  At least in my family, it was the culture.  At least that is what my mother wanted me to believe.  It made her happy to discipline and cause me pain and to belittle me, but she never hugged, kissed, or praised me as a child. 

I immigrated to America when I was about 5-6 years old...  in the early 70's (maybe 73, maybe 74... not too sure).  But I remember the life before getting on the plane to the great land of America.  My mother (who was on the right side of the track) met my father (who was on the wrong side of the track) and somehow, thanks to my Aunt (my mother's only surviving brother's wife).  I guess she introduced these two completely different creatures together.  And for whatever reason, they fell in lust.   It couldn't have been love...  ever.  I don't believe that for a second.  Within the year of getting married, I was born.  Or at least that is one of the many stories I've heard.  My father has been known to twist the story to his lovers by saying that I was born of a prostitute and my father had to marry my mother so that I would have a mother...  WHATEVER.  In the end, I sound and do look a lot like my mother so I don't and cannot believe it.  But when you are a little girl or a teen, you tend to question and doubt the truth.  Anyway, I do recall as a 2-3 year old child, being taken to my father'ss girlfriend's house (some condo or apt where she had a little noisy annoying puppy).  I was introduced to her and she to me.  I still remember my confusion and the pain.  And shortly thereafter I was shipped off to my father's mother's house (my paternal grandmother) in Pusan.  You see, both my mother and father were well educated university graduates and had prominent jobs in Seoul and lived in Inchon in my mother's home.  But also, in Korea, there are a couple of things that one does not realize...  for instance, a married woman never changes her name legally...  and the last names come first.  So my dad's name was and is Yee Choong Koo, but spelled Choong Koo Lee by the Americans that filled out the paperwork.  And my mom's name was Byun Young Seng, but spelled Young Saeng Pyon while imigrating and then later changed to Lisa Young Lee when naturalized as an American.  My dad kept Choong Koo Lee, I think but I've often heard him being referred to as Chuck, Charlie...  whatever.  Anyway, the other thing is that in the event of a divorce, kids go with the dad...  PERIOD.  Mothers had no right to keep the children.  At least this was the law then, who knows how long they've come now.  But tombstones always have the wife's maiden name on them...  that I know is still the case. 

Well anyway, my mother shipped me off to my paternal grandmother's shack and supposedly sent money monthly to my grandma and my uncle (my father's youngest brother) to take care of me...  you know the basics, food, clothing, etc.  My mother and father are really good for that, since that is what they did with my brother to me as well...  "here you go, I'll send you money, just take care of him".  Only he was a teenager and I was a toddler.  I had no clothes in the winter...  in the dead of winter in a snowstorm, my mother once found me playing outside with  mucous running down to my chin with a summer dress on and not even underwear or socks.  In the dead of night, i could not sleep from hunger.  My grandmother apparently drank away whatever money was sent for me...  this I found out when she was once stuck in a trench she had fell into as she was stumbling home drunk from a local bar.

Eventually, my father and mother decided to give it another try and decided that we needed to move to America, the land of liberty, freedom, and opportunity.  So we went through several rip off artists who promised us passports until finally we hit the right one...  and about a a year or two later, we were off to America.  I remember all the junk food I ate on the long plane ride and throwing up everywhere.  I am still not a good flyer...  hate to fly actually.  Hmmmm.  I remember landing in Seattle as the snow was as familiar as what we had left behind...  but my uncle picked us up and drove us down to LA.  OR did we get on another flight from Seattle (stopover) and we landed in LAX?  I just remember the tunnel out of the airport till this day.  I remember the lights below when we were landing till this day. Those sort of things stay in our minds forever...  and as I get older, I hope that I still remember those details.  There are so many things I'd rather not remember but I do, and there are things I wish I could remember, and I just can't. 

Once we settled in with my uncle in his place in Los Angeles, it was quite a change of life.  I was put into a school where I could not understand anyone... and I got the chickenpox pretty soon there after too.  I got my ass kicked for the school calling because I had to be picked up during the working day.  GOD FORBID!   I also had to deal with life with my uncle, aunt, and younger cousin..  who was especially difficult to get used to.  When one day, we were playing and he tricked me into kicking up my leg as he held it and threw me off balance, I cracked my head open on the end of the metal frame of the bed..  and I got my ass kicked for it.  Since he was the younger one and I should have known better.  Okay, he is only a year younger than me...    And we didn't have the money to go to a hospital so they just bandaged me up.  I still have that scar.  My cousin was right and I was always wrong...  according to everyone, especially my aunt, uncle, and cousin...  I lied all the time.  Hmmmmmmm, I used that to my advantage later though. 

Love,

Me