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Jae Young — São Paulo 1995
As soon as we landed in São Paulo, the contrast with Seoul was immediately apparent. A tall woman with long, straight hair greeted passengers right as they disembarked, guiding them with emphatic gestures and loud directions — words I couldn't grasp.
Walking through the door into the baggage claim area, I paused, overwhelmed by the bustling crowd and the cacophony of unfamiliar sounds; my stomach churned with anxiety. Reaching out, I clutched my father's hand. He glanced at me, sighed deeply, and tried to muster a reassuring smile, managing only a tight-lipped nod as he squeezed my hand.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find happiness here,” he assured me.
I couldn’t share his optimism, but deep down, looking into his uncertain eyes, I knew he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own words either. Yet, he strived to believe them.
As the eldest son, I felt compelled to be a role model for my brother. I exhaled deeply and nodded. My father lifted Jae Wook onto his lap, cradling him with one arm, while gripping my hand with his other. This time, his smile was more genuine, filled with hopeful determination.
We followed the crowd, blending in with the other passengers.
In the slow-moving line, my dad did his best to distract us from our fatigue — his legs still numb from the flight. He then started a conversation, a bit awkwardly:
“He left Korea during the war,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. I looked up at him with curiosity. “Your samchon Park Soo Hyun.”
“At war?” I questioned, and dad nodded solemnly. “How old is he?”
“I’m not entirely sure. He’s your Harabeoji'[3] younger brother.” he explained, catching my full attention.
“That period was immensely challenging. Countless civilians perished... Our family lost everything. Then Uncle Park Soo Hyun learned about an agreement between Brazil and Korea, and in December 1962, he set sail from the port of Busan with ninety-one other people and eleven former soldiers,” my dad continued, recounting the hardships and the journey that led us here.
I never knew about this uncle. I wasn't even aware that Grandpa had a brother.
“And Harabeoji didn't come?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Being the eldest, your grandfather strictly adhered to his father's wishes and commands, choosing to stay in Korea.”
“But you never talked about Samchon Park...”
“We couldn't. All ties with him were cut off.”
“It’s like what's happening to us now.” My dad gave a wistful smile, shaking his head. I couldn't grasp why he behaved this way or why Miss Lee Hye Ji was so cruel.
“Abeoji[4], if you lost touch with Uncle Park, how did you find him again?”
“Samchon Park sent letters every year with updates. Even though your Harabeoji never spoke of his namdongsaeng[5], he saved all the letters. He passed them to me before his passing. I replied to a few, reestablishing contact.”
I gazed at my brother. He wasn't paying attention to the story; he had almost dozed off, his head nestled against our father's shoulder. A woman of medium height, with a round figure and blonde hair, approached us. She said something incomprehensible to both my father and I. Then, gesturing assertively, she pointed straight ahead and spoke in English.
My father nodded politely several times, offering a friendly smile to the woman. She was a stranger to us, but upon realizing that my father had been standing for an extended period holding a child, she promptly guided us towards the service area. The woman even offered to hold my brother, which my dad politely declined. We didn't know her, and he was concerned she might pose a risk to Jae Wook.
To me, her gesture seemed odd; yet, I silently thanked her with a nod, relieved that we were finally able to exit the airport and locate Uncle Park, who was awaiting us in the arrivals zone, holding a sign in Hangeul[6].
Seeing something familiar eased my mind. My heartbeat slowed, and my breathing gradually returned to its normal pace.
My father gently roused Jae Wook, who blinked sleepily and rubbed his eyes. He then clambered down from our father's lap and wrapped his arms around my waist, looking frightened.
Uncle Park Soo Hyun, with his gray hair and a few wrinkles – not as many as Grandpa had – bore a striking resemblance to him. His full cheeks and thick lips were exactly like Grandpa's. Unlike Grandpa, however, he smiled broadly, showing all his teeth and squinting his eyes in delight.
He opened his arms and approached my father, enveloping him in a warm hug and patting his back affectionately.
“Jung Hee! It's wonderful to see you in person! Welcome!” “Annyeonghaseyo[7], Samchon.”
My father beamed, offering a deep bow to Uncle Park Soo Hyun. Uncle continued to laugh heartily, then bent down to greet Jae Wook and me, ruffling our hair playfully before enveloping us in a tight hug. I expected it to be uncomfortable, but it wasn't—it felt comforting. Jae Wook caught my eye and grinned.
“Are you hungry?”
“Nê[8], samchon baegopayô[9]!” My stomach growled audibly.
"That's great, because we've got bulgogi, rice, kimchi, doenjang jjigae, tteok, pyeongyang naengmyeon, and kimbap. I wasn't sure what else you'd like..."
"I like everything!" Jae Wook exclaimed, jumping and laughing.
“Kamsahamnida.”[10] my father said, bowing again in gratitude.
As we walked to the car, my father listened intently to Uncle Park Soo Hyun describing the local area.
We would stay at his house for a few days initially, until we found our own place. Dad would work with Uncle in his clothing store to learn the business ropes. We were also going to have a teacher to help us with Portuguese and understand local customs—that much I could grasp. Then, they shifted their conversation to business matters.
In that moment, I turned to gaze out of the car window and was struck by the vastness of the cityscape. The Brazil I had heard about paled in comparison to the reality before me—it was far larger than Seoul.
Opening the car window, I was hit by a pungent odor; the street we drove along skirted a dark, barren river. I quickly shut the window as Uncle's laughter echoed from the front seat, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
His house was large, not like our Seoul home, but apparently typical for here. It featured a basement with a garage and another undefined space. The ground floor boasted two spacious living rooms, a large kitchen, two bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms, and a guest bathroom. Stepping out of the kitchen, we found ourselves in an open area equipped with tables and chairs and a swimming pool.
The front of Uncle's house boasts a well-manicured lawn and an additional open space, furnished with two round tables and several chairs. The upper floor houses Uncle's and his children's bedrooms. Some of his children have moved out, yet he maintains their rooms as they were, ready for their visits during their children's school breaks. Uncle generously offered us the bedrooms on the ground floor.
After freshening up with showers, we joined him and his wife in the living area. Initially, I assumed she was Brazilian, but it turns out she's also Korean. They met during their voyage here. Throughout our time together, we conversed exclusively in our native language. The culinary flavors and decorative items around the house evoked memories of our homeland; it felt as though, within these walls, we were transported back to Korea. That night, I found myself sleeping soundly, even though Jae Wook clung to me throughout the night in our shared bed.
––––––––
In our first week, Uncle Park Soo Hyun introduced us to the Bom Retiro neighborhood. This area is where my father began working and it's also where I learned one of my first Portuguese words. Uncle's original shop and factory were located on José Paulino Street, one of the earliest Korean businesses in that area, established in 1977. Nowadays, the store has moved to another street, lined with shops owned by Koreans—some who came around the same time as Uncle, and others more recently.
Upon his arrival in Brazil, Uncle Park initially ventured into agriculture in the countryside, but quickly realized farming wasn't his forte. He then moved to São Paulo. There, he started out as a seamstress in a small clothing factory owned by a Jewish family, which is where he picked up the trade.
Years later, he launched his own textile factory, initially focusing on affordable women's wear. Now, he has transitioned to producing high-quality, high-end clothing. My father is following in his footsteps. Uncle has secured a property for my father's business on Aimorés Street, close to his own. The stores there are more upscale, with fashion-forward apparel showcased in large, eye-catching window displays. This contrasts sharply with the rest of the neighborhood, characterized by crowded sidewalks, aging buildings closely packed together, and more modest offerings. It feels like a completely different part of town.
Today, upon returning from our exploratory walk around the neighborhood, we were greeted by a woman with blonde hair, almond-shaped eyes, and medium height. She was the Portuguese teacher hired by my uncle.
"Annyeonghaseyo," she greeted us in our native language. "My name is Ana, and I'll be teaching you Portuguese." Her voice was soft and subdued.
"Annyeonghaseyo," Jae Wook and I responded, nodding respectfully.
"I've brought a dish that I learned from my grandmother; it's called sweet rice."
She reached for a glass tray on the table and offered it to us. I glanced at my father for approval; he nodded, and then I accepted the dish. Ana served us in small glass bowls as well.
"Kamsahamnida," I thanked her, spooning a bit of the food into my mouth. I savored it slowly, trying to discern all the flavors. It was a simple rice dish, enriched with a creamy milk broth and some thin, white strands I couldn't immediately identify. Quite sweet.
"Obrigado," Ana corrected me gently, her attention fixed on me. "In Portuguese, we say 'obrigado' to express thanks." She enunciated each syllable carefully, her mouth articulating the words clearly. She ended with a smile.
I echoed the word. Ana praised my effort and kissed my cheek. Startled, I jumped back, instinctively covering my cheek with my hand, feeling the warmth where her lips had touched. I glanced at my father before shyly lowering my eyes to my feet.
" Mianhada[11]," Ana apologized, shaking her head slightly. "I forgot you're not accustomed to our local customs yet."
Uncle Park led us to the dining room where Ana sat between Jae Wook and me. She had learned Korean while teaching Portuguese to other immigrant children like us. Some Portuguese words were challenging to grasp, despite my familiarity with the alphabet from English lessons. The pronunciation and spelling seemed entirely unrelated.
I struggled with the sounds, my attempts not quite matching Ana's clear pronunciation. The words felt tangled, and the noises I made sounded odd. At times, I felt like giving up and yearning to return to Korea.
Ana noticed my frustration. She paused, offered a reassuring smile, and persisted. Her dedication was evident as she explained everything in detail, ensuring we understood correctly. However, her frequent hugs made me uncomfortable.
"You're doing well. It's tough, but with persistence and patience, you'll get there," she encouraged.
She hugged Jae Wook, who eagerly reciprocated. When she hugged me, I remained motionless, unable to reciprocate the gesture. She eventually let go, gathered her belongings, and said her farewells. It was only after she left that I relaxed.
––––––––
The following day, Uncle's wife escorted us to the São Kim Degun Korean church. We weren't Catholic, so I was puzzled by this visit. Upon our arrival, a man who didn't appear to be Korean approached us. I looked up quizzically at my aunt.
"He's one of the parish priests," she explained.
"Is he going to make me pray?" I asked. She chuckled and playfully tousled my hair.
"No. I brought you here to meet other Korean kids. They'll help you settle in. Some are recent arrivals, while others were born in Brazil. You'll like it here," she assured me.
As the priest, a man with large eyes, greets us with a warm smile, I find myself smiling back instinctively. He shakes our hands and leads us to a lively area at the back of the church, bustling with children. Some are singing, others are playing or enjoying snacks. I recognize a few of the dishes, but others are unfamiliar to me.
The priest beckons a boy who is taller than me and converses with him in Portuguese. After a brief chat, the boy takes over, introducing us to the other children.
Shortly afterward, an array of unfamiliar snacks is served. Initially hesitant, I gradually start to enjoy the new flavors—the breads, fruits, cakes, a snack called 'coxinha', sweet pumpkin and papaya, and the delicious brigadeiro.
The day evolves into a blend of eating, chatting, and playing Brazilian games, eventually leading to some Korean activities we're familiar with. From that day on, we start regularly attending the church. It becomes a gateway to exploring the neighborhood, discovering small shops selling Korean goods—from confectionery, beverages, and snacks to children's books and toys. Strolling along the sidewalks quickly becomes a favorite activity of mine, especially in areas teeming with fellow Koreans, offering a slice of home.
In contrast, other parts of the neighborhood are a tapestry of diverse sounds, colors, and faces—both familiar and novel at the same time. The warm behavior of the people, including the Koreans, is a striking difference from what I am accustomed to. The frequent displays of affection are natural and commonplace here, yet they remain a challenge for me to embrace.
However, my discomfort lies elsewhere—I still struggle to warm up to our Portuguese teacher. My brother seems increasingly fond of her, and even my father, who has also started attending her lessons, shows a level of ease and happiness around Ana that I've never seen him display, even with my mother. This growing discomfort of mine is hard to ignore.
At the conclusion of today's class, after witnessing the prolonged hug Ana shares with my father, I hurry toward him.
"Dad!" He pauses mid-step as I quicken mine. Reaching him, I come to a stop and bow respectfully. "Abeoji, I... I'm struggling to grasp what this teacher is teaching us. Is it possible to find a different one?"
"If there's something you don't understand, just ask her to clarify. I've noticed you've been unusually quiet, Jae Young. Adapting can be tough, but you're already making friends and picking up some Portuguese."
"But Dad..."
"Don't worry," he reassures me, kneeling down to my level. He gently ruffles my hair with his hand. "I plan to follow Uncle Park's advice. Once we sell our house in Seoul, we'll buy one here in Bom Retiro. This way, you and your brother won’t have to face another move. I'm committed to making our new start as smooth as possible for you."
He's missing my point. I close my eyes, inhaling sharply.
"I just don't like her!" My voice comes out louder than I intend. My dad looks at me, adjusting his glasses. He remains silent for a moment, his head bowed.
"Did something happen between you and Ana Ssi[12]? Was there any inappropriate behavior?"
"No."
"If it's not a problem, let's give her another chance. Your brother is fond of her, and switching teachers now could be disruptive for him. Remember, as the eldest, you have a responsibility to look after him. Besides, Ana..."
He calls her by her first name? He never did that even with Mom, who was always referred to more formally.
"...is quite capable. I'm confident she can assist you more effectively if you explain your specific challenges with the language."
"But..."
"I have work to attend to, Jae Young. We'll discuss this later."
With my father, 'later' often means the conversation is postponed indefinitely. He stands, ruffles my hair again, and departs without another word. The matter is thus concluded.