Digital murals for the armchair traveller.

My blood family is tiny. Me, mom, 할아버지 (grandpa), 할머니 (grandma). 할머니 came to Canada after 할아버지 passed. I had been out of my mom’s house for years but went unexpectedly, summer 2013. Mom went to the office during the days. I waited tables at night. 할머니 and I spent afternoons cooking and attempting broken conversations about future goals in Conglish. I will never forget hersaying, “Now that I have time to myself, I can read and study again.” That hit me deep as someone who threw the idea of family out years ago to relentlessly focus on my career without guilt. I felt like these were our first moments talking adult to adult.

할머니 was a rebel of her generation. Female school principal in South Korea. She married “very late” because she loved her job too. She retired to take care of the family after her daughter (my mom) was born. I only remember her as the chef, cleaner, grandfather care-taker. He was a scholar who studied until the very end.

(beat)

Bought a new film camera. Asked 할머니 to help me test the flash. Her face lit up before I pressed the shutter. Who knew she enjoyed being in front of the lens so much? She was a pro in my Michael Kors jacket (she’s always cold). Throwing on the hood, hands in prayer mode (Buddhist). Another first, portraits of my grandma on film.

I think of her every time I see a white butterfly. She loved nature. Mom gave me one of her old point and shoots. Doesn’t work but he sits with my other cameras. I wear her shoes around the house, probably shuffling like she did. Burn the incense she left. My grandmother embedded food and photography into our family DNA. She is the reason why meditation and classical music are a part of my vocabulary. 할머니 was dedicated, sweet, peaceful. I honor her everyday by living fully, positively.