Two Lands, Only Flower

I grew up with my grandparents. I spent my childhood in Hyehaw-dong in Seoul and every summer in Yeongdong-gun, Chuncheng-bukdo. Both my maternal and paternal grandmothers came from the same ancestral land but raised in different places. One in the middle of the land, Yeongdong and the other one from Uijeongbu. I've spent the past few months by their side, watching the slow process of dying. For them, such a life timeline, such an attitude, such courage, and such remorse.

I see their eyes and talk through their life from childhood to adulthood. What a layer of life. What a generation. What labor.

I hold their hands and I wish I can meet them anywhere in dreams and in other life. Can I meet them if I belong to other lands? Will we meet again?

I am in the process of sending them to nowhere. No land any longer. No farms, no labor that they carried their entire life.

My repentance is only return, repay. What love. I quietly see their belongings that haven’t changed for decades. Bibles, Buddhist scriptures, the cross necklace, and the prayer’s beads. But only the same things are the flower patterned clothes they both have. The 할머니 (Grandmother) fashion.

Flowers turning down wilting. I see other flowers blooming. It’s on the other side of the world. There are many people who I know. My best friend Jiwon, Uncle Jinsun and Hyungsun, Easten’s mother Donna, and my grandfather.