Korean-or-American

Tagged by Soon-Young.

Random sets of 3’s:

3 things you WILL do in this lifetime:
1. Travel to every continent at least once. Even Antarctica!
2. Learn another language. I already know English and Redneck.
3. Run in a race and make it alive.

3 songs with lyrics that have made you cry:
1. Everything means nothing to me.
2. Imagine…
3. My hump my hump my hump my lovely little lumps. (This one really brings tears to my eyes.)

3 TV shows you enjoy watching (old or new):
1. The Office
2. The Wire
3. America’s Next Top Model (I know, its crap but it’s the best out of all the other crap I watch.)

Dreams you once upon a time had, but that haven’t come true and you’re okay with that:
1. Being an artist. I wanted to be that when I was little but I don’t think I even knew what that meant at the time.
2. Being able to fly. I guess I’ll have to settle for airplane rides.
3. Being an animal doc. I gave that up when I worked at an animal hospital one summer.I was tricked into helping put a kitty cat to sleep. I’m sure the kitty was ready but it was a shock because I didn’t know what I was helping with when I walked into the room. Very sad. Plus the receptionists were bitchy.

3 places you go/have been where you found a sense of peace:
1. The beach but not one of those busy ones where people are wearing thongs. I like the quiet, thongless ones.
2. Home with music and a beer
3. Driving alone on road trips with music. No beer.

3 minor major regrets in life:
1. Majoring in art history.
2. Not waiting to go to college until I figured out what I really wanted to do. Of course I could have been the oldest college graduate in history if I did that.
3. Can’t think of anymore. I try not to have too many regrets.

3 clichés or common phrases that you tend to believe are true:
1. Its never simple. (People say this all the time where I work. It seems like just saying this phrase makes things difficult.)
2. A penny earned is a penny saved.
3. It’s the journey, not the destination.

I tag anyone who has not done it already. You can leave it in the comments if you so desire.

Last week I needed a pick-me-up. So I decided to help my friend pick weeds and have pina coladas. I know picking weeds doesn’t sound like great fun but it kept my mind busy trying to figure out the difference between weed and plant. We stopped by the liquor store on the way to her house joking that our week was off to a good start- pina coladas on a Monday. After we picked our way through the store and found the tastiest looking bottle, we went to the register to pay. My friend and I fought over who would pay and she won. The cashier, a middle aged man, gave me a big smile and said “You’re money’s no good in America. Let her pay!” Huh? Trying not to believe what I heard, I attempted to move on. Surely he had heard me speaking with my friend. Hadn’t he heard my slightly southern accent, the accent that is probably more apparent than I’d like to admit? Moving on proved to be unsuccessful. He continued to talk about an “Oriental girl” who was in the store recently and said they do not pay taxes “over there”. I was not sure where “over there” was located but he looked at me as if I knew of this magical, taxless place. If he smiled big enough at me, I may let him in on the perks that all the Orientals are getting Over There. All I could muster up to say was “I don’t know where that is but I’m from here. I pay taxes.” I thought this would be clear and make him drop the subject. But no. He kept repeating his story. He really wanted to know about Over There. Again I said I did not know where she was from and told him even though she did not pay taxes Over There, I’m sure she paid some other way. So forget your tax free fantasy!

I left wondering how many times I need to say “I’m from here”. Often I will lie and tell people I was born in Virginia, as if to say “Hey, I’m as ignorant as you. I know nothing so don’t ask.” But is all this storytelling pointless? Why should I waste my energy trying to prove myself to strangers? Part of me gets angry. Part of me gets sad. Part of me wants to simply ignore it all. But most of me just wants to buy my liquor in peace!

But seriously, I know this story is nothing new but it gets to me every time.

Growing up I wasn’t that interested in who my “real” parents were. As far as I knew they were living with me already. And it annoyed me when people asked about my “real” parents. “Don’t you wonder what you’re real parents are like?” “That must suck- being adopted then your parents here get divorced.” Like it must suck less to know your blood related parents hate each other. So maybe I was just trying to rebel against those people by not caring about it. But recently I have been curious. I’m getting older which means my birth parents are getting older as well. I feel like if I don’t start searching now it could be too late.

My first step was to contact the adoption agency which is Holt. At first I tried Holt in Oregon. They said I had to pay $100 bucks to see information about ME. That doesn’t seem right, I thought. In fact it seems crazy! Thankfully some good people (thanks TTR!) warned me about the evil Holt and how I shouldn’t have to pay this money. So my next step was to contact Holt Korea which I did. They sent a copy of my papers, no questions asked. I was excited and anxious to receive them. I wondered what kind of top secret information was in there. Maybe it had a name of a family member, or a birth parent, or that my billionaire birth grandmother died and her billions are waiting for me in Korea! Well, I got them, quickly opened the package and duh… I can’t read Korean. I was a little disappointed but I could still read some of the pages. In English there was information about my stay at the White Lily Orphanage though not much to go on. I read on hoping to get some of that secret stuff that was so valuable to Holt. But nothing. At least nothing that I didn’t already know. I was found by a police box in Teagu. I was sick. Yada, yada. Interestingly the medical records were in English but I could barely read them. I guess that old saying that doctors have horrible handwriting is true worldwide:)

I am currently waiting to see if a friend of a friend can translate the rest of the papers for me. It may be a repeat of the English parts but I still need to know. Hopefully my friend will come through for me and help me get them translated. I will give an update if I find that top secret info I’ve been waiting for. If nothing comes of it, I’m not sure what the next step should be. I’ve heard about how the agencies don’t always tell the truth. But I don’t want to search endlessly and wind up even more disappointed. I guess if I get to that point I’ll have to accept the fact that yes, I have wondered what my “real” parents are like and I’ll remain wondering.

Maybe things can change. For the past year I have been training to become an EMT. A lot of rescue squads like it if you’re trained as both an EMT and a Firefighter. Its the two for one special in the field. I had never considered going into fire rescue before. Part of this is because I’ve always held the notion that firemen are MEN. Macho men. And this is true for many. I spent some time with well seasoned firemen having been on the job for about 20 years. They spoke of the “new ways” which I don’t think they were too fond of. Affirmative action- not their favorite. The physical agility test- not like it used to be, anyone (women) can do it. They were making it clear who they thought should be allowed into their world. Its the Manly Good Old Boys Club.

In my male dominated EMT class, I stick out as female and small. At first I thought surely they think I have no chance in this profession, at least beyond assisting with the ‘real’ work. After our last class together we all went out for a celebration beer. We were talking about classes to further out education and future careers. One being fire rescue. If you pass this class you’re sure to get a job according to my teacher. I admit, at first I thought, “Oh well. Guess I’m stuck with volunteering.” My teacher went on to describe what is involved while I listened with half an ear. The physical agility test required to pass involves boot camp style exercises. Walking on a stair-stepper with 45lbs attached. Walking 3 miles with more pounds strapped to your body. Dragging a 185lb dummy. I have trouble carrying groceries through the front door. How can I drag a 185lb dummy! It seemed I was the only one with doubt at the table consisting of 3 males. They assured me it was mostly technique and mind over matter. These young 20-something males were very encouraging. Something I had not expected from the good old boy types. But the younger generation has grown up seeing women do things that only men used to do. Their fathers may not like it but they are becoming used to the idea. Even though problems with the gender gap are still far from perfect, maybe progress is being made.

All of this made me reevaluate not only the gender gap but my role within it. I had been the one to limit my options. Even though I’m a part of my classmates’ generation (well… the oldest part:)), I still had the ideals of their parents within me. So now I can say I not only learned how to become an EMT but I also learned that macho may be going out of style. I have never been very stylish but I think its time I start.