The Physical Home as a Portal to Choson

 

“닝도 가끔 내게 그런 말을 하곤 했다…어쨌든 두 나라 말을 다 하니 넌 참 좋겠다, 고 부러워했다.  그러나 그들이 모르고 있는 것이 하나 있었다.나는 때로 차라리 그들처럼 한가지 말만‘제대로’ 했으면 좋겠다고 생각한다는 것…매번 그들과 만나고 돌아올 때면, 나는 어느 누구하고도 같지 않은 나 자신을 더 또렷이 느끼곤 했다…우리가 말하는‘이’와‘저’ 사이에 존재하는 무수한 회색지대들,그 지대마다 완전히 그 지대에 속하는 것들이 있을 수도 있는 것이다. 두개의 완전수 사이에 확실하게 존재하는 무수한 소수들 처럼.”

“Ning used to say that to me sometimes. She’d say, in any case you’re so lucky you can speak both languages.  But there’s something they don’t know: that I often think that I’d like to instead speak just one language “perfectly” like they do…Every time I came back from seeing them, I sensed more clearly that I am not like anyone else…The infinite gray zones that exist between “this” and “that,” there can be those that completely belong to each of those zones.  Just as the infinite decimal numbers that most certainly exist between two integers.”

19-21

In “My Home That Is Nowhere In This World,” writer Kim Keum-hee portrays an ethnically Korean Chinese, or Chosonjok, woman living in Changchun, Jilin.  She grapples with feeling lost between identities that have seemingly rigid boundaries that both act to other her and to lead her to identify simply as an “other” and a “stranger” in all settings and interactions.

 

Writer Kim Keum-hee; her collection, “My Home That Is Nowhere In This World”.

 

“그것은 집 이라기보다 집의 틀, 집의 뼈대라고 아는 편이 더 정확했다.  여러 문화의 사람들이 같이 어울려 사는 이 나라에서는 오히려 이런 식의 분양 법이 더 인각적일 수도 있었다. 입주자의 취향대로 설계하고 인테리어하고 채워 넣을 수 있는, 소위 중국 대륙 식‘모피 집’.  나는 손을 내밀어 그 차갑고도 딱딱한 시멘트 벽체들을 가만히 만져보았다. 그 불변하면서도 확실한‘우리 집’의 현실이 내 손가락 끝에서 견고하게 버티고 서있었다…남편은 이곳에 우리가 무엇을 채워 넣어야 비로소‘우리 집’ 다워질지, 그것을 알고나 있을까.”

“It was more accurately described as the frame of a house, the skeleton of a house, rather than a house.  In this country in which people of various cultures coexist harmoniously, this style of real estate dealing might actually be more human.   The so-called mainland Chinese-style “fur house” that the occupant can design and decorate according to their taste.  I put out my hand and gently felt the cold, hard cement walls.  That immutable, certain reality of “our home” stood firmly against my fingertips…I wondered if my husband even knew what we had to fill this place with in order for it to really become “our home”.”

21

Here, the narrator begins using the physical house as a loaded image that symbolizes identity.  The narrator expresses her uncertainty about how to make her house truly ‘hers,’ reflecting the ambivalence that she expresses about her identity as a Chosonjok woman who feels neither fully Korean nor fully Chinese.  Here, the narrator’s thought process in her move into a new home is similar to that of settling into one’s unique identity as an individual self.  The new house can feel a bit empty, lonely, and cold, but on the other hand, infinite in possibility and vital for the narrator’s continued survival; fitting into one’s own identity can be said to be quite the same, especially in the context of ethnic ambiguity.  From the perspective of this metaphor, the story’s title—which gives the collection its title—takes on multiple layers of meaning.

 

“어느 논밭 가운데 자리 잡은 자그만 동네 하나를 지나치다가 나도 모르게 창문에 얼굴을 바짝 붙였다…얼핏 다른 동네들과 비슷해 보였지만, 나는 그 정체를 금방 알아볼 수 있었다. 크지는 않지만 조선 동네가 틀림 없었다…내가 알지 못하는 곳에도 조선 동네가 있었다는 사실보다,그 많은 동네들을 지나치며 유독 조선 동네를 한눈에 알아본 나 자신이 더 신기했다.  높은 담이 아닌 안팎이 서로 보이는 개방식 바자? 깔끔하게 정리된 마당? 아니면 유난히 가쯘한 텃밭 이랑들이나 상추씨 따위를 뿌렸을 낮은 하우스 때문이었을까?”

“As we passed by a small village nestled in the middle of some rice paddies, I found myself peering closely out of the window…At first glance, it looked similar to other villages, but I recognized it immediately.  It was not large by any measures, but it was undoubtedly a Chosonjok village…I was less curious at the fact that Choson villages existed outside of my knowledge than at my own split-second recognition specifically of a Choson village.  Was it the low walls and open style bazaars?  Neatly ordered yards? Or was it because of the particularly tidy furrows and the low-roofed house that must have lettuce seeds sown in them?”

23

The narrator experiences feelings of belonging where she does not expect to find them.  Here, two layers of identity configuring are taking place: First, she is pleasantly surprised by her discovery of a familiar-looking village that speaks to her of a kind of kinship.  Second, she is struck by her own reaction to this small echo of her ethnic roots.

 

“진달래였다…그때‘우리 집 인테리어 콘셉트의 어떤 실마리가 내 머릿속에서 피끗 떠오르는 것 같았다…붓으로 찍어놓은 듯한 진달래 숲속으로 단원 김홍도의 그림 같은 시골마을 집들이 언뜻언뜻 지나가고 있었다.”

“It was Korean rhododendron…at that moment a flash of interior design concept for our home glanced across my mind… Picturesque huts glimpsed out from between a rhododendron forest that looked like it had been painted by Kim Hong-Do.”

25

Again, this and the previous excerpt from the narrator’s train ride can be read as depictions of the concept of the physical home as a representation of identity.   The physical home is a setting in which some of the strongest cultural associations are developed, and the narrator’s conception of her ideal home is that in which she has probably never existed, but that is embedded in the inherited memory of Korean ethnic identity.  It is clear to the reader that the narrator struggles to determine exactly in what way she identifies with this Korean identity.  Despite this ambivalent relationship with her Korean heritage, she basks in brief but warm glimmers of fellow feeling throughout this story. The moments in which the narrator describes Choson style homes and villages are always fleeting, vivid, and dream-like.  This could be due to that fact that her connection to her “Korean-ness” is through slivers and flashes of learned and inherited ethnic memory.

 

“그래도 굳이 나의 콘셉트랑 가장 가까운 인테리어를 꼽으라면 한국 싸이트에 나오는, 한옥 인테리어가 유일했다… 그 뒤로 연 며칠, 나는 시간이 날 때마다 남편과 함께 장식재료 시장을 훑으며 발품을 팔았다. 재료들이 하나둘 구체적으로 결정 되면서 내 머릿속의 하양 도면도 조금씩조금씩 채워지고 있었다. 잠들기 전 침대에 누워 눈을 감으면 인테리어가 완성된 우리 집이 망막 안에서 영화 속의 한 장면처럼 붕–떠올랐다.”

“If I had to choose, I would say that hanok style interior design in Korean websites was the closest to my vision…For several consecutive days following that, I spent every free hour roaming decor and woodwork markets.  With each piece of material that we decided upon, the white easel in my mind filled up bit by bit.  Before I fell asleep, when I laid down and closed my eyes, images of our fully decorated home rose up behind my eyelids like a scene from a movie.

26-27

The narrator dreams repeatedly of a beautifully traditional style of decor, but there is no online guide of any sort to make the visualization process easier.  The shining ideal persists in her mind, however, while she and her husband diligently gather bits of wood material here and there to fashion handmade roofing and furniture.  Put side by side parallel with the narrator’s journey in constructing her ethnic and social identity as an ethnically Korean Chinese woman, this process of gathering raw material to put together a home with one’s own hands is given a deeper significance.  As there are no online instructions on how to craft one’s personalized identity, the narrator traverses her daily interactions searching for scraps of cultural common ground in various relationships, reflecting on how those scraps fit into her own self.   By the time the house  and the furniture has been put together, the narrator still appreciates the glowing vision of traditional Choson architecture in her mind, but also cherishes the real, hand-fashioned home that she has put together piece by piece with love.  The reader hopes that this suggests a similarly lovely conclusion for the narrator’s conception of her own identity.