Note: I wrote this post a while back, but I recently decided to add some personal pictures to go along with the story, as well as some insight I had gained. I also revised it a little so that it’s easier to read.
Jung: A Korean word with multiple meanings to include feeling, bonding, affection, heart, empathy, compassion, love, friendship, and connection; I recently added to the title “A Spiritual Reconnection Between Souls.”
There is a Korean saying that two souls can form “jung” just by spending an hour together, and I definitely agree.
I mentioned in my posts, “Inspiration” and “Choosing to See Through the Eyes of Universal Love” something a wise, loving Goddess-like soul once told me.
She said that when we form a spiritual relationship, it’s not about the quantity of time we spend with one another…but quality time.
Sometime between 2002-2003 while I was in the Army at Camp Essayons, Korea: A Korean orphanage was scheduled to come to our compound, and our unit (as well as others) made plans to greet them and be their host.
This was the first time I had experienced being around children from an orphanage, so I was very curious as to what my new experience would be like. At the beginning, I (like others), chose to sponsor two kids.
Somehow, there was a miscalculation, because there weren’t enough sponsors. I bet it was a non-Asian who did the calculating (wink wink…j/k, I’m not even your typical, math-excelling Asian female).
So, I just went with the flow and ended up sponsoring more children. It seemed like every time I looked away for a brief moment, another kid was all of a sudden in front of me, staring almost eye-to-eye (since I’m 4’9″), and asking, “Can I join your group?”
The little rascals probably had some master plan that only I wasn’t aware of. Next thing you know, I had about eight kids with me. Some of my co-workers teased me saying that i was starting a collection of children.
My main goal was to give them a happy experience, so I did everything I could to make them feel comfortable and joyful. I gave them a tour around the post, we went to the shoppette (on-post convenient store) to get snacks, we played at the pool, we ate at the BBQ, shared stories, watched various performances at the post theater, and took pictures. .
We even stopped by my barracks room where I gave away some of my clothes (to the older ones, who were about my height or taller) and anything else that they liked.
The little ones reminded me so much of my own kids, whom I missed immensely. They were with their father (my first husband at the time) since I wasn’t able to bring my family to this particular overseas tour.
While we were all in the pool’s locker room, getting ready to head out to the pool, one of the little girls suddenly approached me, gave me a big hug, and started to cry. As I comforted her, she looked up at me with her big, chestnut-colored eyes and gently asked, “Can I call you mommy?”
I was very surprised at first, but I felt my heart open…like a warmth I hadn’t experienced in a while. I immediately replied, “Of course you can,” although a part of me felt guilty, as if I was giving her false hopes.
I just remember having a strong feeling of love in my heart. I secretly wanted to adopt, not just her, but the whole group of kids. I wanted to give them the world, just like my own children. They were so sweet, free-spirited, and beautiful. Their parents would’ve been very proud of them.
Note: The little girl holding the hamburger, and also playing in the pool, is the one who asked me if she could call me mommy.
I’m sure they all had understandable reasons why they had to place their children in the orphanage. I deeply believe that all parents desire to raise their children themselves; it’s just that sometimes challenges in life can make it very difficult to do so.
One of my aunts once told me that when my biological father left my mom and I when I was six months old, my mom was going to take me to an orphanage and put me up for adoption. However, my aunts, uncles and grandmother talked her out of it, and I’m very grateful for that.
Even though she had family, my mother probably didn’t want to be a burden on them (something Koreans don’t like to do). Plus, I was a half Japanese “bastard” child.
Even though my bio dad was Japanese-American in the U.S. Air Force, he initially convinced my mother that he was Korean (because he also spoke the language).
My Korean relatives later embraced him, but I think the whole abandoning action ruined the whole “let’s give Japanese people another chance” mentality. However, my Korean relatives are very understanding and forgiving people, so they concluded that my bio dad, too, had his own reasons why he did what he did.
A part of me was sad to hear such a story, but I intuitively knew why. I can only imagine how devastating it must feel like to have the father of your child suddenly disappear, and not feel confident enough to raise the child all by yourself.
My mother was taken out of school when she was 13 years old to help support the family since my grandfather had apparently gambled away most of their money. My mother was the third oldest child out of nine children, so it was expected of her back in the day. I remember my mom once telling me that she didn’t mind working hard when she was a teenager; she wanted her younger brothers and sisters to have enough food to eat and nice clothes to wear.
I believe my grandmother loved my mother the best she could as well, and if she had a better option, she would’ve kept my mother in school. So it’s understandable why my mother wasn’t able to obtain a good job; she didn’t have a decent education.
When my biological father visited me for the first time at my home in January of 2012 for two days (after reuniting with him once in 2008, after my husband found him online right after I returned from deployment), he told me this one story that broke my heart.
My mother first caught my father’s attention when he first saw her at a bar, where she was sitting quietly in a corner drinking juice, unlike the other girls who were drinking liquor and smoking.
He later asked her why she was working there, and she replied, “To survive.” It’s easy for us to quickly judge those who work at establishments like bars, clubs, strip bars…and even street corners (as prostitutes)
However, if we only knew their stories…that more than likely they include much hardship, disappointments, setbacks, heartaches, misery, abuse, and/or suffering , we would have more empathy or compassion.
I once had a nightmare where I was observing my mother (when she was younger) one minute, and then the next minute…I was suddenly Being her.
Some American G.I.’s threw a few dollar bills and change at me. I suppose it was right after I had provided them some type of sexual service. Even though it was a dream, the intense feeling of having my dignity stripped away by some insensitive males made me feel so ashamed of myself. When I woke up, I hoped that I didn’t just have a glimpse of one of my mom’s horrible, life experiences. Note: I’m sure there were plenty of kind G.I.’s as well, like my American, Caucasian father, who married my mother when I was three years old, and adopted me.
I’ve heard these type of stories from other women before, to include my step-mom (my American dad’s 3rd wife; my mom was his 2nd wife) and my former sister-in-law, who are dear to me, and my heart went out to them. They were loving people who just wanted what every other human being wants on this planet…to have a chance to live a happy, loving, healthy and peaceful life.
At the end of the day, as they were on the bus ready to head back to the orphanage, they leaned their heads against the windows with sad expressions on their faces. It was a heartbreaking moment.
The orphanage ca
me by the second time, and it would be the last time. The girls and I reunited and shared happy moments once again. I even gave them my contact information. The departure was even harder the second time around.
However, before I PCSed (moved to another unit), I packed up a box of goodies and visited them at the orphanage. Unfortunately, they were on another trip, so I wasn’t able to see them again for the last time.
I wrote them a letter while I was in Hawaii, my second unit, but never heard from them again. I often wondered if they had even received the package that I had left for them before departing Korea.
Once in a while, I look at old pictures of us, and go back to those days where we shared something precious. I trust God/Goddess/All That Is that they are in good hands (even as teenagers or adults now).
It would surely be an amazing miracle if I could meet them again someday. I believe it will happen if it’s in everyone highest interest. It made me sad whenever I thought that they might of thought that I didn’t care to contact them again after the last time I saw them.
Looking back, when I had wrote a post called, “Motivation” I could understand why the crippled, old man inspired me so much at a time where I felt hopeless.
He basically said that his happiness comes from seeing the orphan children’s faces light up whenever he brought them snacks.
He gathered recyclable trash from his tractor on a daily basis, and then with the money he made, he visited three different orphanages around his home town. I didn’t realize this then, but he was a human/earth angel with Christ Consciousness…serving humanity with his unconditional love and generosity.
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