by Ellen Oh
The video ends with Patrice thanking everyone for watching.
After the applause, Patrice and Hena go up onstage and present their speeches, and then we all watch the professional speaker walk us through the steps of what we can do to fight racism. When it’s all done, I feel all the stress that was tight in my neck and shoulders suddenly relax. I am so relieved, I could melt into my seat. We did it.
For the rest of the week, we all get a lot of compliments on the presentation. It is great to hear that the message resonated so well with so many people. But the biggest surprise comes when I run into Esther Song after school. I am waiting for my mom to pick me up and she’s running late. All the buses have left and there are only a few cars in the pick-up circle. I’m debating whether to wait inside when I hear someone call my name.
I turn around to see Esther Song standing behind me.
“Hey,” I say in surprise. “What’s up?”
She hesitates but then she shows me something on her phone. I have to look closely, but it’s a video of Stu Papadopolis using a black Sharpie on a Diverse Voices flyer. I am speechless and find myself blinking at her like a confused owl.
“He posted it on his private chat app,” she said. “But he’s got about two hundred people following him on it, so I don’t feel bad outing him.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “He posted this on social media? What was he thinking?”
“Give me your number and I’ll send this to you,” she says. “But only if you promise not to tell anyone who you got it from.”
“I promise!” I give her my number, and she watches as I download the video and erase her message.
“Thanks, Esther.” I want to ask why, but I don’t want to push her.
She smiles sadly at me. “I’ve been having stomach problems and anxiety since the third grade. I think it’s time I found better friends.”
I’m nodding. “You deserve better,” I agree.
She waves goodbye and starts walking away.
“Hey, Esther,” I call out.
She turns around in surprise.
“I’m bringing my grandma’s mandoo to next week’s club meeting,” I explain. “You should come and try them out. They’re the best.”
“I don’t know; my grandma’s are pretty killer,” she replies.
“What? Mandoo challenge! We should get both our grandmas to do a mandoo cook-off and we’ll be the judges, cool?”
Esther is laughing. “Cool.”
I watch her walk away and think that she’s not that bad after all.
That night I send the video clip to my friends, and by the time I get to school in the morning, the video has made the rounds, and Stu Papadopolis is expelled. At lunch, I search the cafeteria looking for Esther, hoping to invite her to sit with us, when I spot her with a new group. It looks like she’s already moved on.
Patrice nudges me and asks me who I’m looking for. I smile and point at Esther. “I’m glad she’s found new friends.”
We both look at her. “She looks more comfortable,” Patrice says.
I agree.
“So, I bet you were really surprised it was Stu,” Patrice says, with a knowing look. “You thought it was Tobias, right?”
I nod, a little ashamed.
“I did too,” she admits. “He’s almost too obvious a choice, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“You were probably hoping it was him so he would get expelled, right?”
I look at my friend and nod sheepishly.
“Don’t feel bad. I was praying for the same thing.” Patrice puts an arm around my shoulders. “Although I’m pretty happy about Stu being gone too. I wonder if his little crew will continue to be jerks.”
“I vote jerks.”
“Yeah, probably,” Patrice says. “But this doesn’t solve your Tobias problem.”
I think about my grandpa and my grandma and all they had to go through in life. Tobias doesn’t seem like such a big problem after all.
Nudging Patrice back, I give her a big smile. “I think I know what to do. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? Because I got your back.”
“I’m good,” I say. “I’m strong.”
Patrice gives me a hug. “Love you, Junie!”
“Love you too, Patrice.”
MONDAY MORNING MY MOM WAKES me up super early. She’s wearing her suit already and an apologetic look on her face.
“Honey, I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I got called into an emergency meeting, and your dad already left for work. Would you mind taking the bus today?”
I’m still a little groggy, but her words make my heart pound unpleasantly.
“Or do you want me to ask Grandma if she can drive you?”
I want to say yes, but it would be such a pain for Grandma. I don’t want to bother her. So I say what I know my mom wants to hear.
“It’s okay, Mom, I can take the bus.”
“Are you sure, honey?”
No, I’m not sure. But I nod. “I’m fine.”
She smiles, but I can see the worry on her face. I tell my mom not to stress about it, which is basically useless to say, and I promise to text her when I get to school.
As I leave my house to walk to the bus stop, I have a serious talk with myself.
“Remember what you told Patrice! You’re strong, you can handle this.”
I don’t believe myself. Argh.
I can stand up to my nemesis. He is the tiger of Grandpa’s story. If I don’t stop him now, I will never be free. I take deep calming breaths with every step, until I find myself at the corner across from the bus stop. I spot Tobias right away. He lurks behind the others, sneering at them all.
I am not afraid of him. He is just a mean kid. He is a terrible person who always picks on me. He is a racist. He doesn’t like me. I can feel myself starting to get angry.
I don’t like him either. In fact, I despise him. My blood is starting to boil. I let out an angry puff and march across the street. I will no longer be silent.
“Well, well, well, look who finally crawled out of the sewers! It’s the dog eater!”
My anger erupts. “Tobias Thornton, why do you always pick on me?”
Tobias is startled. He’s not used to me standing up to him.
“Whoa, point your kimchee breath somewhere else, commie!”
“Shut it! I’m tired of your meanness! What did I ever do to you?”
He stands there blinking his narrow eyes at me for a long moment.
“I don’t like you,” he finally replies.
“And I don’t like you either,” I shout right back at him. “But that doesn’t mean we have to be nasty. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Yeah, leave her alone!” Andre chimes in, which surprises the heck out of me. “I’m so sick of you bullying her all the time!”
I’m staring in shock at Andre, but he just nods at me as if to say I got your back. And I feel this rush of energy through me. I’m no longer alone.
I can hear Tobias yelling at Andre to mind his business. But I also notice Andre’s friends have stepped up next to him. In fact, I look around to see that many of the kids at the bus stop have stepped closer to me, as if to give me silent support. And it feels so good. So maybe the diversity assembly really did make a change. Maybe it reminded people to speak up when they see something that’s wrong. The exact message we’d hoped for. To let those who feel powerless know that they are not alone.
This time, I know what to do. “Shut up, Tobias. This is everyone’s business!”
“What did you say to me?” He walks right up to my face, trying to intimidate me with his size and bulk and terrible bad breath.
“You heard me,” I say. I keep a tight lid on my temper but let my voice become as loud and ringing as my soul wants it to be. “When you say racist words, it is everyone’s business, because it hurts all of us. And it hurts you too, Tobias.”
He looks so surprised and then scof
fs. “What the hell are you talking about? It don’t hurt me none.”
“Yes it does, because those words are ugly and hurtful. And if you believe those words, then you will become just as horrible on the inside. Nobody is born hateful; you turn hateful. Those racist words and beliefs are making you ugly inside. But you don’t have to be.”
“Shut up, commie! I don’t need to listen to you.”
“Shut up, Junie,” I reply evenly. “Use my name, not a slur.”
“What?” He can’t believe I’m still talking to him.
“I said, use my name. It’s Junie,” I reply. “It’s not that hard. Instead of seeing us as these horrible words, see us as people. My name is not commie or chink or dog eater or North Korean spy. My name is Junie.”
“I know what your name is . . .”
“Then use it!” I’ve finally lost my temper. “You want to be mean? Fine, be mean. You want to be rude? Then be rude. But don’t use racist words ever again.”
“What are you gonna do about it, Junie?” He sneers my name in an elaborate, condescending manner. But I feel like I’ve won, because he didn’t use a slur.
“Then we’ll keep having this conversation every single day, over and over again until you are sick to death of hearing it. Until you finally stop.”
I can see the thoughts in his head churning, and he clearly doesn’t like it.
“And don’t you ever call me a commie ever again. My great-uncle and his pregnant wife were murdered by Communists during the Korean War. My great-grandfather was imprisoned and tortured by the North Koreans. My family comes from a country where a false accusation of being a Communist would get you and your entire family imprisoned or killed. So don’t ever use those words again.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Tobias sneers at me as the bus comes. He pushes everyone aside and gets on the bus first, stomping to the back.
I’ve won. At least that’s how I feel. I don’t think I’ve changed him, but I can feel the change in myself. My back is straighter. I am standing taller. I’ve definitely won.
Grandpa, you’d be so proud of me! I fought my tiger, and I won’t let him bully me ever again!
I would give anything in the world to hear him say Good girl!
As we line up, Andre stands next to me.
“So, was all that about your great-uncle and stuff true?”
I’m surprised he’s asking me, but I nod. “Yeah, it’s all true.”
“Wow,” he says in admiration. “Do you mind telling me what happened?”
He sits next to me on the bus, and I find myself relaying some of the stories my grandparents told me. As we pull into school, he turns to me and says, “Junie, I hope you write these stories into a book one day.”
A book.
Yeah, I think Grandpa would like that.
“JUNIE-AH!”
Grandma is calling me because I’ve wandered too far away. But it’s because Incheon Airport is amazing. The ceilings are really high and beautiful with tons of natural light, and I see actual trees and lush greenery in the terminal right next to luxury-brand cosmetic stores. It might be the nicest airport in the world. Although I’ve only seen Dulles Airport back home, where we flew out of. I thought Dulles was nice. But Incheon is on another level.
“Junie-ah!”
“Coming!”
There’s so much to see, but I hurry after Grandma and my family. My dad’s trying to rent a car and Mom’s getting us all SIM cards for our phones. And Justin is making a beeline for a convenience store to look for food. I don’t know how he thinks he’s going to buy anything since we haven’t exchanged any money yet.
“Grandma, are you tired?”
“A little bit, but I slept a lot on the plane,” she says. She grabs my hand and pats it. “You look so excited.”
I nod enthusiastically. “I just wish Grandpa were here.”
Grandma’s hand tightens on mine. “He is here with us.” She pats her chest. “He is always here with us.”
Justin comes running back to us. “Grandma, can you buy me snacks? I’m starving, and they got triangle kimbap in the store!”
We load up the big minivan Dad rented, and we pile in for the drive. Our itinerary is full—we are going to stay in Incheon for a few days so Grandma can see how much it has changed since she left so long ago. Next we’re going to Seoul to visit Grandma’s friends and do a lot of sightseeing, and then Seosan to visit Grandpa’s relatives who still live there. One of the suitcases we brought is filled entirely with presents for them.
I look up at the blue sky and I can’t help but think of Grandpa. I touch my phone and I can see a photo of me and Grandpa on my lock screen. We were sitting together on his armchair before he got sick. I see his smiling face, and I feel the pain in my chest again. I’m getting used to it. I know I’ll be thinking of him a lot during this entire trip. He’s the reason we all came. To see Korea like he wanted.
“I’m here, Grandpa,” I say out loud.
I can almost hear his voice saying, Good girl, Junie. Good girl.
Author’s Note
WHEN I WAS YOUNG, MY mom would always tell me this story about how she and her siblings were separated from their parents during the Korean War. Sometimes she would say they were lost for weeks, sometimes a month, sometimes it would be raining in her story, sometimes it was just really hot, but the premise of the story remained the same. Four little kids walking night and day on the roads of South Korea, looking for their parents. I have to admit, it was always more of a tall tale to me—the long, difficult journey, the miraculous reunion. It was a family legend, kind of like the magic fish myth my father would tell me, how our Ha ancestors were turned into golden carp to save them from evil invaders. Or how my parents loved to tell me supposedly “true” scary stories about evil Korean monsters who like to eat naughty children named Ellen. So, you can understand why I might have been a bit skeptical about the lost children story.
But then nearly ten years ago, my aunt came from South Korea to visit my mother in New York City, and after dinner the two sisters became nostalgic. I listened in fascination as they reminisced about a memory that was over sixty years old. My aunt, who is the eldest, would correct my mother’s version of this epic story and just like that, what had once been an unbelievable tale became a historical family truth. I suddenly realized that this miraculous journey was real, and I was overwhelmed with a burning desire to write about it and memorialize it.
I began my own journey into researching the Korean War, and soon it became clear to me that I couldn’t only write my mom’s story. The subject matter was too complex and too emotional. And as I puzzled over this dilemma, I became aware of what was happening in my own community. Swastikas and racist graffiti were being found in schools all over my city and my children were suffering. But how to tie this all in with a story about the Korean War? What I found myself doing was listening to my father’s voice. He passed away several years ago, but I still talk to him in my heart. I can hear him telling me his stories. I can hear his voice and his wise words that remind me of how important it is to pass on the stories of our elders. So that we will always remember where we come from. And suddenly the story began to form.
Without a doubt, this has been the hardest of my books to write, the most deeply personal. In many ways, I feel very exposed by what I share in this book. But I am also proud of this story. It is both truth and fiction, historical and contemporary. It is my family’s story and the story of my motherland.
I hope that you enjoy Junie’s journey, and I thank you for reading.
With deep gratitude,
Ellen Oh
Glossary
abeoji — father
abeonim — father (formal)
appa — dad (informal)
aga — baby
ahjumma — middle-aged married woman
ahjussi — middle-aged man or married man
aigo — oh dear
banchan — small side dishes given at meals
bap — rice or food
boricha — barley tea
chama — to endure
chibi — Japanese slang for something short
chon — 1/100 of 1 won, the official currency of South Korea
emo — aunt on mother’s side
eomeoni — mother
eomeonim — mother (formal)
eomma — mom (informal)
eonni — older sister to a female
galbi jim — marinated and braised short rib dish
gomo — aunt on father’s side
gwaenchana — It’s okay.
halmoni — grandmother
hanbok — traditional Korean outfit
harabeoji — grandfather
hotteok — sweet pancake
hyung — older brother to a male
jeon — battered and fried dishes
jumokbap — round rice balls shaped like a fist
karaage — Japanese fried chicken
kim — seaweed squares
kimchee — fermented cabbage
kongnamul — bean sprouts
mandoo — dumplings
nado — me too
noona — older sister to a male
omo — Oh my!
oppa — older brother to a female
podaegi — quilted blanket used to secure a young child onto a person’s back
sal — uncooked rice
saranghae — love you
waseo — You came.
yaksok — promise
yeobo — term of endearment, usually between a married couple
yeontan — coal briquettes to heat house
Acknowledgments
This book wouldn’t be possible without my mother and my emo and the conversation that finally made me realize the truth of what happened during the Korean War. I’m so grateful to them for sharing with me their memories. And I am filled with so much admiration for these two incredibly strong women. Thanks, Mom and Emo, for letting me tell your story. I really hope I did a good job.
For me, the absolute best part of working on Junie’s story was that I got to go to South Korea on a research trip with my oldest daughter, Summer. What an incredible bonding experience for us and we both ended up falling in love with our motherland. The trip will always be one of the highlights of my life for me and I’m so glad to have been able to share the experience with my dearest Summer girl!
