Unlocking the Key

by Jennie Dickerson (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Korea South

“Beautiful Korea,” she said, with a heavy accent, a proud smile, and a sweeping gesture towards the horizon. They were the only two words she knew in English, and with them she welcomed me to her country. She and her husband had just fetched their daughter Catherine and me from the airport in Seoul. I had been Catherine’s roommate during the school year we had just completed. She was an international student finishing her degree, and I was a college freshman, with an insatiable love of travel, language and other cultures. I knew study abroad would be out of the question freshman year, so I signed up for an international roommate. I figured that if I couldn’t go abroad myself, I would bring abroad to me, welcoming a stranger into my world and hoping to learn about hers. I had no idea that one decision would spark a lifelong friendship and a trip that changed the possibilities of travel for me altogether. When the school year ended, and with it Catherine’s time in America, we traveled back to South Korea together. She was excited to get home, and I was thrilled to see and taste and try the things she talked about for a year. Both too filled with anticipation to sleep, Catherine spent most of the fourteen-hour plane ride teaching me the Korean alphabet at my behest. To me, language has always been like a formula; once you have the key, it unlocks a whole new world of meaning, possibilities, and shared understanding. I studied my cheat sheet of Korean symbols, practicing the sounds of each one. While I knew I couldn’t learn Korean in fourteen hours, I loved every minute I spent unlocking the key. Catherine’s mother was grateful to have her daughter home and had made preparations for her return. As soon as we arrived at their cozy Seoul apartment, extended family came for a welcome home dinner consisting of Catherine’s favorite foods—a noodle dish with fresh vegetables to be slurped with chopsticks and a sticky rice blend full of rich flavors I didn’t know rice could have. Her mother, a short, nurturing woman with kind eyes and a sweet smile, made sure I felt welcome and comfortable in her home and also her kitchen. She set my place with chopsticks and a fork and knife, just in case. She served Korean breakfast alongside American breakfast—PB&J sandwiches or salad with ranch dressing. She took us on meaningful and historical Korean outings, so I could learn all I could about their country. I felt very welcomed and cared for, but I didn’t need a cheat sheet to decode that message. As it turns out, a common language isn’t the only way to communicate important messages. A few days into my trip, Catherine’s mother encouraged me to help her in the kitchen. With lots of charades, but without words, she taught me to make a Korean egg foo young with fresh green onions and varieties of mushrooms I had never seen before. She showed me how to separate the mushrooms and chop them to just the right size. With patience and enthusiasm, she taught me when to flip the egg-like omelets in the pan. It was clear that this was something she made often for her family. She knew this recipe without even thinking. There were no measurements or written instructions. She knew it by heart, and now, even thirteen years later, so do I. Spoken language is not the key that unlocks understanding. More important than words are patience, love and kindness. It was her genuine desire to share her world with me that made that afternoon in the kitchen so memorable, and neither the recipe nor the life lesson will I forget. I left Korea feeling like I had a new key. With it, the door to the whole world flew open, and I began to see brand new possibilities of visiting places I had never considered. I am grateful to Catherine’s mom for teaching me, with onions and mushrooms, that communication is more than words and for the trip that opened the door to all the rest. Beautiful Korea indeed.