Daddy Dearest....
Neh. More stuffs.
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I presented myself.
All by myself.
I sat at the table across from him and folded my hands together.
Dad said his smile was deceiving, but I’m thinking differently.
I presented myself.
All by myself.
To an American.
He wants to make a request.
I ask:
“What is it you want?”
“To set up camps in your city. We won’t be in your way, we just want--…”
I feel like crap.
Why me?
Why not someone else?
I feel indifferent.
He continues speaking.
“If that’s okay with you, sign this. In a few years…”
I can’t hear him speaking.
I’m staring at his eyes.
Dad said just his appearance alone was deceiving.
I always nod my head when he rants on and on.
But today, now that this man is in my father’s office, what choice do I have?
Dad hasn’t been around in ever.
(Probably too busy with Uncle.)
Brother hasn’t, either.
(Maybe he’s with Seoul? I loathe that.)
No one was there for me or to help me do anything.
I’m young.
I can’t really speak for myself.
Sure, it’s my city.
I can make my own decisions, but what would Dad say?
I’m sure he’d just rant again.
And I’ll nod my head as always.
To pretend I’m listening.
I really love dad.
I do, but.
It’s my city.
(Dad won’t mind, right?)
I have to make these decisions for myself.
(It’s my city, right?)
“I’ll sign your papers, Mr. Jones.”
I say this cheerfully.
And he smiles that evil smile and slips the papers towards me.
I read over them, nodding occasionally.
I smile brightly and sign the papers.
I slide them back.
He nods and simply says.
“The camps will be finished in 2012. I’ll be visiting occasionally though. Is there anything you need?”
I think for a minute.
What do I need?
(My dad?)
Well, what is it?
(Maybe to see brother more often like we used to.)
I sigh and shake my head.
“I’m okay.”
We shake hands as if we’re business partners.
Well. Something like that.
“One more thing. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
Really now?
“I’m just concerned about what’s going on over here. You can understand that, right?”
Well, yeah. My uncle has freaking nuclear weapons stored somewhere and you Americans are pestering him. Of course he’d try to recruit my dad to support him.
“So, we’re clear on that, okay?”
“Um, sure. Yeah.”
I force a smile.
I feel like this is gonna come back and bite me in the ass.
I wonder how dad will feel.
Will he nag or approve?
I can feel the nodding already.
“That man is bad, blah, blah, blah. Are you listening?”
Nod, nod.
“Pay attention!”
Nod, nod.
I can hear it already.
“Hey, Jamie…”
He gets my name wrong.
It’s Im Jim-Eee.
Born to Im Yong-Soo.
Sister of Im Shin-Il.
You’d think he’d know by now.
“Yes, Mr. Jones?”
“I was wondering, where’s your father lately? I could’ve spoken with him about this, but…”
“He’s always busy, so I’m sure he doesn’t even know you’re here.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
I kinda hate my name when you really think about.
It sounds like Jimmy.
Mr. Jones can’t pronounce it right, so like all Americans, they change it into an American name.
Jamie.
I’m used to it now.
I forget my real name.
I don’t think that’s okay.
If I told dad that…
I can feel the nodding already.
I wave bye to Mr. Jones and sit at father’s desk.
I gently lay my head down and think.
…
………
I’m startled.
I look up.
“Was that who I thought it was?”
Oh, it’s dad.
“Umm…he was just here for a visit…”
“What have I told you about Americans?!”
I sigh and stand up. I then begin collecting my papers.
“It was just a visit, nothing personal.”
The ranting begins and he sounds angry.
I hate that.
I can feel myself nodding now, looking down.
“…and stop slouching like that, you’ll have back problems! Are you listening?!”
Nod, nod.
“Look at people when they’re talking to you! You’re being rude!”
Nod, nod.
I look up at him.
He sighs.
“What were you two doing?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Don’t get smart.”
“I’m just saying, Jesus Christ.”
“What did he want with you?”
“To set up a few things or two. He just wanted to talk, is all. It was only business.”
Dad, why’re you so mad?
“Change that tone in your voice. Now then, where’s your brother?”
I shrug.
“You never know, do you?”
I shrug again.
He groans and storms off.
I feel horrible.
It’s not as if Mr. Jones had done anything to me.
I know this.
Dad, I’m sorry.
I presented myself.
All by myself.
And yet Mr. Jones left me with a feeling, not even you can understand.
It makes my head hurt thinking about it and before you know.
Months and months later.
I’m learning English.
Months and months later.
I develop a bit of an accent.
Months and months later.
Dad and I argue.
Months and Months later.
“My ancestors don’t even recognize you.”
Weeks later.
I’m stuck with Mr. Jones.
Weeks later.
I sold all my hanboks, hair pieces, and everything else. I can’t make a proper kimchi anymore.
My appetite for Korean foods has died.
I forget the recipes I was taught.
I’m forgetting my real name.
If Dad heard me…
At least.
I didn’t cut or dye my hair.
Yet.
Er…
I’m Jim-Eee.
I think.
Oh, wait.
Nevermind.
Jamie.
And I love my dad.
I’m Jamie.
I think.