"If a house burns down, it's gone, but the place—the picture of it—stays, and not just in my rememory, but out there, in the world.
What I remember is a picture floating around out there outside my head. I mean, even if I don't think if, even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened."
Toni Morrison in Beloved
My parents got married on a lavender farm. From ten to eighteen years old, I spent most weekends there, because that's where church was. Those experiences have shaped my whole life.
When I went to UCLA, at eighteen years old, I went to the soccer field at night with a journal in my hand. I sat in the bleachers, alone. What am I doing here? Why are people always talking about nothing? What
My Mom came across Christianity while working at a sandwich shop. She had just immigrated from Korea to Los Angeles, and she was curious about life: Why we live, why things seemed pointless and sad. The sandwich shop owner was Korean. He told her to go read certain passages in the Bible. She did. She listened to recordings of sermons he gave her. She believed. She started going to this specific church, where she met my Dad.
My Dad was previously an atheist. I'm not sure what his story is, but I know that him and his two sisters decided to go to that specific church. That's how he met my Mom.
For a while, church was held in Orange County, but then it moved to this half-farm half-resort.
In my young body, the place was huge. It had hiking trails, an old pool, ponds, old trees, antique buildings, cactuses, and squirrels, ducks, and deer. We would run around all day and night. We'd choose trees to lay on, write on rocks and then hide them, jump onto the island in the pond only if you had the password. Once there was a big drama, because the guys had played a game where they threw rocks in the air. One landed on a kid's face. and he had to get stitches. I don't remember my parents ever keeping tabs on us, given we didn't have cell phones. They probably expected us to show up for food, which of course we did, and was made by the Korean moms.
Volunteers from the church would be sunday school and korean language teachers. Amongst my church friends, I learned how to read and write Korean, and learned about Korean history. Then I would sit in to long sermons about the Bible. The sermons were taught like an academic lesson. We went over a lot of history and teachings on how to live. I learned that Korean adults loved when I bowed at a ninety degree angle. They thought it cute how respectful I was.
It took over an hour to drive to church. My parents fought the whole drive almost every time. I would plug my ears and sing.
I haven't regularly gone to church since I was eighteen.
It's a far drive. It's not even a consideration my weekend plans. I'm not reminded to go. Religion, or even an interest in life or death, doesn't come up in my day-to-day life. It isn't trending in the city I live, or amongst the friends I have.
But.. my korean identity, my childhood, my family — It's still tied to that place.
Do you have a place like that?