My mother’s family comes from a devout Buddhist tradition. My grandma was a devout buddhist who took me to temples many times. My father’s side were not really religious in any way. As a matter of fact, my father once told me that he was an atheist. (I do hope and pray that this had changed at some point, although I will never know).

With a strong Buddhist background of my maternal grandmother, a bit of Christianity was “allowed” in the family. My mother went to the methodist church near her house in Incheon, and even taught in Sunday school for a brief time I was told. My grandmother was open to this (Christianity), and became close with the pastor’s wife. She contributed to the church in different ways as well – e.g., hosted Christmas caroling group from church with food etc. And the pastors wife, who was also a midwife, helped bring me to this world.

As fate would have it, Grace had been born four years after on the other side of Gyeyang mountain that overlooks the village I was born in. And as the fate would have it, my late father-in-law came to preach from time to time to the very church. Twenty years later, Grace and I would meet half way around the world, and eventually marry each other.

fate
/fāt/ noun
1.the development of events beyond a person’s control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power.

계산동 (Gyesan-dong) is my birthplace. It is now part of Incheon, the port city on the west coast of South Korea. This place is more than my birth place; this place has given me such wonderful childhood memories. If I could go back and re-live a part of my life, I would choose those days I spent here without hesitation.

Lately, my mother has been telling me old stories going back to Korea days. She told me many a times about her favorite memories. Many times, she would repeat the same stories. This is how I learned about the town and the house I was born in.

The house was a large traditional Korean house with a inner court yard and nine bedrooms. My mother got married and moved to my father’s house in Incheon city center. She came back to this house to give birth, in order to be cared for by her mother (my grandmother) as was the custom in those days. The extended family and two live-in helpers (a married couple) lived in the house. My grandfather owned and leased land to the village farmers. He died when I was very little and I don’t have any real memories of interacting with him. I was told that he was a gentle soul who liked fishing and had various farms and businesses. He once owned a winery in town that he bought from the retreating Japanese family at the end of the Japanese occupation of Korea. Unlike many people in a rural country after the war, my mother’s family lived with little worries. This grand old house, unfortunately, was sold and my grandmother and one of my uncles (the youngest son among the five siblings of my mother) moved into a humble two bedroom house not too far away. The story behind the ‘decline” of the household is a bit sketchy. The fact that it was my youngest uncle who took my grandma hints at some discord amongst siblings. In the extended family setting, it usually is the oldest son who cares for the parents, especially in those days.

It is in this small humble house that I spent my glorious days that probably shaped me in some profound ways – or I’d like to believe as such. I had been telling my family about my carefree days spent here and they are probably tired of me telling the stories by now. It is hard to describe in words how wonderful my memories of this place really are. From the time I was able to walk till my preteen years, I practically lived in this house during every school recess, summer and winter. It is hard to say what was the attraction for me at such a young age. I would think it was the rural country setting and the nature that brought me back time after time, which was very different than my Seoul city life. A half century later, I still remember the distinct smell, the smell of “natural fertilizer” that they used to spread in the fields on narrow dirt roads leading to the house.

I look up this village on google maps from time to time, trying to find exactly where the houses stood. All I could make out are the mountain in the back of the house and a few landmarks like the elementary school I used to visit with my cousins. Everything in and around this village has been built up and the place is now a sprawling city with many high rise apartment buildings.

I am sure that not all memories about this place are happy ones, but my mind has a way of filtering only happy memories. And I am ok with that.