Korean War and …Peace?

Saturday morning was so sunny we couldn’t bear to stay inside. So, we loaded up Luca and strolled off base to the Korean War National Museum where he could run around underneath all the war airplanes.

“Aypayn! Aypayn!” he announced as he ran under the wings of the fighters. All the times we’ve driven past the museum, which is right outside the U.S. military base where we live, I’ve often seen kids wandering this outdoor collection. Fun idea, right? But as we walked through, the cries of glee from Luca and other children suddenly seemed a little bit out of place.

Farther back, other vehicles sat in a menacing row: monstrous tanks and truck missile launchers, some Soviet made—left behind when the North fled the South—and some American. Harsh reminders of a part of the Cold War that is technically still going on.

Even more poignant is this statue memorial pictured below. I’d seen it from the road, but never really allowed it under my skin. The men at the top are fictional brothers who met and embraced on a battlefield, one soldier fighting for the North and the other for the South (you can guess which is the bigger dominant man, I’m sure, considering we live in the South).

The crack in the base represents the divide, but the sign out front suggests the brothers’ embrace represents the hope of reconciliation. To me, though, standing at the base of this statue, the true tragedy hit me: It is as if the U.S. Civil War never resolved, but resulted in two unfriendly countries. Even more intense since Koreans are all one ethnic group—it was and is truly brother against brother; cousin against cousin.

And worse: From what I understand, many young men and boys were drafted by one side or the other (as in, forced into a truck to go train as soldiers), through no ideology of their own, and others were put in prison camps.

Joe’s grandfather was one of those men. He, his wife and young children had escaped the North, where they lived after the nation split. When the North (with their Soviet and Chinese backers) took Seoul and almost the entire peninsula, he was captured and imprisoned for supporting the South. He eventually escaped the prison camp through cunning and the grace of God, and his entire life story is dramatic and inspiring and should be made into a movie.

Joe's grandmother had a brother who was conscripted by the North during the war; she always told Joe his looks and personality reminded her of that brother, and Joe held a special place in her heart because of it. For years after the war, she checked newspapers for any sign of him or news of what happened to him. Nothing ever came.

Though his grandmother passed away last year in New York, surrounded by children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, his grandfather lives on. He is a piece of history.

A "danger" sign on missiles is always off-putting,
even if you know they just don't want you to hit your head.

His piece of history seems so long ago to me, though, and for better or worse, it’s hardly a thought or conversation topic here, less than 40 miles from the DMZ. When dire threats from Pyongyang filled U.S. cable news last year, most Koreans here were hardly bothered. Heard this before, they said. In fact, such warnings are annual, coinciding with the huge military readiness drills the U.S. and Korean armed forces conduct.

But there’s a reason the U.S. military has such a huge presence here. And there’s a reason subway stops have survival stations with gear, food and gas masks.

The truth is, however prosperous and peaceful and low-crime and gun-free Seoul may seem, and however low risk there is of the North acting out, this peninsula is not at peace. And its history is not a peaceful one. Saturday was a good reminder.

The Wedding Hall Phenomenon

When I took my semester of Korean language, some of my classmates—mostly from Japan and Taiwan—asked to see a wedding photo.

I showed them the one pictured here, a wide shot of the Oak tree and the whole event, flower petals and all. My wedding was not unheard of for the United States—many people, especially in California, have gorgeous outdoor weddings. Mine was awesome and perfect for me, but it wasn't featured in Modern Bride or The Knot.

“Oooh, it’s like a Korean drama!” One chimed.

“It’s like a movie!” another said.

I laughed a little; I hadn’t intended to show off—they were simply fascinated by all the aspects of me, a white Westerner, marrying an ethnically Korean guy.

That kind of wedding is not commonplace in Asia. In fact, in Korea, weddings are a different animal altogether. Did you ever have prom in a big hotel? You know, when there were at least three proms going on at the same time in different ballrooms? This is essentially how so-called “wedding halls” work here in Seoul.

Joe and Mallie, bowing at our Korean wedding in New York

Western-style, walk-down-the-aisle weddings are a relatively new phenomenon in Korea. The traditional ceremony involved the bride and groom bowing in return for advice from the older generations, a bride-and-groom piggyback ride, and other symbolic and entertaining activities. Some couples still include such traditions in the festivities, usually just in front of family members.

The weddings here, now, are almost factory produced—and in a place as crowded as this city, such a system seems to work well. Or maybe the system works because it fits better with a culture that isn’t concerned with each individual having it her way. Maybe there are elaborate wedding halls like these in the United States, but I haven't seen them.

Brandy in a "Bride's Room" in 2012

When my sister Brandy visited shortly after Luca's birth in 2012, we explored a wedding hall at a nearby shopping mall (yes, you can even tie the knot in a mall)—sneaking into the Bride's Rooms to snap photos when the security guards weren't looking—and it was fascinating. Several beautiful “chapels” are pre-decorated in various styles, some more formal and others modern (think clear glass floor aisle), and buffet rooms are always set up, ready to go. You basically check off some boxes and the work is done for you. What color? What time? Which flower? None of this whole American way of planning from scratch, finding and decorating a church and a reception hall, and so on. Less personal, maybe, but more efficient.

In fact, the system may have crossed the giant pond. We initially planned to have our Korean wedding at a Korean restaurant with a reception hall in New York, though we ended up in my in-laws’ gorgeous backyard. Now that I think about it, the restaurant’s room was pre-set for a wedding and reception, and all I had to do was pick flowers and colors. I remember being surprised by such a room; I never saw anything like that in California.

Me in another "Bride's Room" in 2012

Here in Korea, I haven’t made it to any of the few weddings I was invited to over the past couple years—something Luca-related always conflicted—but from what I hear, the ceremony is broadcast in the buffet room, and some guests go straight for the food and watch the couple wed on screen. At some point, someone will take a centerpiece, and suddenly there will be a run on centerpieces, all gone in minutes. This is expected: Staffers wait with plastic to help wrap flowers.

Maybe it is because so many of movies come from Hollywood, but other than Greek and Indian weddings, I never thought about how such ceremonies might be fundamentally different around the world. Once an Italian diplomat and his wife visited our home, and the wife fawned over one of my wedding pictures. “So it’s true?” she asked. “You have the... maids? What do you call them? It’s just like the movies!”

I guess that’s the fun in living abroad: I get to see integral aspects of society done differently. I get to be surprised by details I wouldn't have thought to research. I get out of my American bubble.