[EN] Imagining Young JB

When I miss my country, Korea, I imagine my husband JB’s childhood in the U.S.

Fifteen-year-old JB was too shy to even order a burger at McDonald’s.
He didn’t like going outside because he wasn’t confident in his English.
In a neighborhood full of white people, he was often mistaken for Mexican because he was the only Asian kid there.

He was happy singing together with others in the church choir.
For the first time, he felt like maybe he could belong among American people too.

But no one came.
That stage.

And the long walk back home alone.

There was also the day he had to walk a long way home from school because nobody came to pick him up.
When he finally saw his host mother, he snapped at her out of frustration, and later regretted it deeply

When I piece together these small stories my husband told me casually with a smile, as if they were nothing special, I feel grateful for the person he became — gentle, resilient, and brave.

And somehow, because I am living abroad with someone who has already survived such long years of loneliness, patience, sorrow, and achievement,
my own lonely life in a foreign country feels safer.

I feel less afraid.