Hatty Lee is Korean, American, Korean American(ish). Hatty is working toward her Master of Arts in Theology at Fuller Theological Seminary from Seoul, Korea, 17 hours ahead of PST, applying to jobs at the likes of Hyundai and Samsung while teaching English like a true repatriate. You can find her blogging at callmemehetabel.wordpress.com.
It’s past midnight in Korea Standard Time on a Tuesday, and I’m up writing with no rush to get up early tomorrow, as I only teach two days of the week. This nocturnal rhythm is quite normal for many English instructors in Seoul.
A 10-year-old girl looks out to a bare and large soccer field of her elementary school. Standing on the elevated platform, she can see all around her meaningful landmarks from her first decade of memories in Ilsan, Korea, all she’s ever known.
I came across this line in the book “The Cultivated Life”, and it moved me. The author described a forest after a wildfire, with trees leveled down to charred stumps and dead branches, and then, suddenly, a green shoot peeks out from the ashes. Yes, some seeds only open up in destruction. But until that flash of color, death is present — acute and chronic pain, grief, desolation.