Reminisce

I'm sitting in my economy seat on the plane. Ten hours have already passed and I haven't been able to sleep one wink. I'm too nervous. Nervous about going back home, about seeing my aunt, about seeing my mom. Nervous about what I've left behind in Korea. Nervous because I'm not so sure what I'll go back to.

My goodbye with Koko replays in my head a lot, as if on an endless loop in my mind.

I sniffled as liquid dripped from my nose. "Do you think he'll ever forgive me?" I asked in a broken and bubbly voice. Koko patted my back, reassuring me that he will, but clearly only saying so to make me feel better, because how could she know? She didn't cry when I left, but that was because she knew I would be back. And I left wishing that I could have the same confidence in myself she always seems to have.

***

My first week at my aunt's house consisted mostly of getting used to things again. Despite only being gone for just over five months, everything feels so strange now. I didn't take into account that reverse culture shock could happen to me, and it has. It's unsettling, coming back home, a place you've grown up in and should feel most comfortable in but don't. As I walked around the streets, ordered food in English instead of Korean, got accustomed to the extremely cold weather, the different scenery, the mass variety of different people from different cultures, I couldn't help but feel like a stranger in my own home.

Eventually, the shock subsides. When it does I'm able to function better. But an underlying feeling of unease remains in the pit of my stomach for a while, because I had sent a message to Taeyoung before going on the plane, and there's still no response.

My aunt was never the happiest person, and she wasn't thrilled when I asked to live with her for an unknown number of days, but she let me. She is older than my mom and looks quite different as well. She didn't get the red hair of my grandma but instead a thick head of black curly hair that seems to go against time, while her eyebrows have already greyed. Her deep blue eyes seem to captivate anyone who dares to look at them. They are cold, like my grandmas, but mesmerizing. She has two children, but they are both long gone now, starting their own families. Her husband, my uncle, has to travel for work a lot and as a result, I have not seen him yet. She doesn't seem to mind though. In fact, she probably loves being alone.

She isn't alone though. My avô, grandpa, moved in with her once my grandma and mother passed away. He's deteriorated since I last saw him, but his brown eyes hold the same sparkle they did when I was a little girl. While he seems to have a harder time speaking—and staying awake—he still makes an effort to kiss my cheeks enthusiastically when I arrive.

***

A month in, I still haven't visited my mother. Why? I don't know. I guess I'm still not ready. My aunt had given me something, an envelope, saying it was for me. She didn't know my address in Korea so she just kept it, and eventually forgot about it.

It's from my mom. But I can't seem to bring my fingers to open the seal.

I'm sitting on a couch that rests in the nook of a bay window, contemplating about opening it today, when my grandpa slowly makes his way over to me. He sits down beside me with a tired sigh and smiles at me. We sit together in silence for a moment, not needing to say anything.

"Menina, why did you come back?" He asks me in his strange accent.

"I wanted to see mom again," I say while still looking out the window. It's a strangely beautiful day. The sun is actually able to push it's way past the Winter clouds and shines on the reflecting snow.

"But you haven't."

I shake my head.

We sit in silence for a bit again before he changes topics.

"Did your mother ever tell you how I met your grandma?"

I shake my head and look at my grandfather. He smiles solemnly.

"At age 20 I had moved away from home, wanting to be independent. But it was hard to find a job in Portugal at that time. So I found a job for the summer working on a farm in Ireland. I could not speak English and was illiterate, but it didn't matter. They only needed my body to do the physical labour. When I arrived I saw your grandma. She was one of the daughters of the man I worked for. Her bright red hair caught my eye in an instant. Against the too-green grass that covered the land, she stood out like a fire."

His smile grows wider as his eyes seem to be carried off into the past.

"I was always curious about her when I worked, but I didn't know how to talk to her. I only knew work words, like 'dig,' 'plant,' 'horse.' But one night I worked very late and headed back to my room in the barn in the dark. She came out of nowhere with a lantern to help guide me. We didn't say a word to each other, but I felt like I was burning up just being next to her. I ended up purposely working late every day since, and every day like clock-work she would join me to walk me back."

I smile as I imagine my grandma, my fierce stubborn grandma, silenced by this dirt-covered farm boy who couldn't even talk to her.

"After a few weeks of this, she finally spoke to me. I had secretly been reading English books in my room at night. I never knew what I was reading, but I had picked up a few words. Of course, it wasn't enough to communicate well. So the next night she was carrying a book in her free hand and she read to me in English in secret after I was done work. Eventually, as she grew more comfortable around me, she taught me how to write. Her family didn't know about this as it went on for two whole months. Eventually, I ended up asking to stay longer, past the summer. Because I was such a hard worker, her father agreed. So I ended up working in the day and spending my evenings with your grandma. Until her parents found out. Then I was forced to go back to Portugal."

He still smiles as he says this, but his eyes squint, crows feet now showing.

"By then it had been eight months, and her helping me every night ended up not only fostering my English literacy skills, but also our love for each other. I would write her letters in English from Portugal each week. At first, she responded, but after two months the letters disappeared. So I got the courage to go back to Ireland and find her. Looking back, I don't know where I got the bravery from. I found her secretly and asked her to marry me. She agreed, telling me that she responded to every letter."

"How did you marry without her parents knowing?"

"Oh, they knew. They weren't happy about it, neither were my parents. My parents wanted me to marry a daughter of their friends. But I was so in love, there was nothing else in this world I wanted. So we got married without anyone knowing in a small Irish church. Then we confronted her parents out of respect, told them what we had done and that we were moving to Canada. Canada was like an escape for us. And that's what we did. We got on a boat together, newlyweds with no family to support us. We started in Ontario but were intrigued by the mountains and eventually moved to Vancouver. Then we had your aunt and mother."

He smiles warmly at me, his brown eyes twinkling again.

"So that's why your accent is so weird," I tell him. He chuckles at this.

"It's kind of Irish but also not." I laugh with him, feeling strangely comforted by his story. My grandfather was always a poetic, kindhearted man. He used to write my grandmother poetry and letters. I remember being a little girl and sitting beside him, watching him write in his intricate script and trying to read his symbolic words.

All this time I thought my grandmother was the opposite of my grandfather. Just as fiery as her hair, sometimes even rude and much too strict. But turns out she was a lovesick girl deep down inside.

"You have your mother's eyes, querida." He places his tanned hand on my pale one, warming it up with his wise touch.

"And mom had your eyes, vovô," I say back. He pats my hand with a smile.

"One thing I regret is your mother coming back home."

My smile falls from his next words.

"Why?"

"While I was glad to have her back, she ended up forcing herself to stop loving someone she really cared about. And she was never able to get over it. I wish I had convinced her to go back, but I was selfish."

"It's not your fault."

"I know, I just hope she forgave herself before she left us."

He smiles down at me solemnly.

I nod my head, "Me too."

. . .

Avô/vovô - Portuguese for grandfather.

Menina - Portuguese for "girl" [often used as a noun for endearment, like "child"]

Querida - Portuguese for "Dear, Sweetheart" etc.

A/N:

I kinda love this chapter. I love the story of her grandma and grandpa, and it seems so real too, like that really did happen to two people way back then. If you're wondering, I myself am Portuguese and wanted to incorporate my background in here somehow. (ps. please don't comment in Portuguese lol I'm not literate in Portuguese and only somewhat understand Azorian Portuguese (where both sides of my family are from))

xx sooaura