Crossing the Ocean in Style

            by Eunjie Song

 

I opened my eyes. I turned my head to the left and found a blank wall staring back at me. Turning it to the right, I saw another empty wall staring back. I sat up and found myself alone in an empty white room, devoid of any existence other than myself and the two sheets of blankets that wrapped around me.

I crashed back onto the blanket I had slept in. It was not a bad dream, it was reality. It was my room, although it seemed so empty and foreign. Yesterday, all the furniture had been wrapped, packed and shipped away to America. Today, I was to be washed, dressed and flown away to America. I covered my face with my hands and pressed down as I lay there on the ground. I hate mornings. My thoughts got lost as my vision faded away into a huge blur.

The shriek of my mother demanding me to get up slapped my ear. The room was now exploding with sunlight invading the bare window. The clock indicated that it was almost eleven. I stretched, and as I dug through my travel bag to pull out a T-shirt and pair of jeans, Mom walked in. She was wearing a black velvet skirt, stockings, a purple blouse, and a black trench coat. She could have dined with a president in that outfit.

"No, you're not wearing that. Wear these." She handed me a pile of clothes.

"What is all this?"

"We must look nice. We don't want to look like crude people on the plane." I looked at the carefully coordinated outfit – a frilly white blouse, a padded black blazer, a ruffled black skirt, and a pair of pitch-black stockings.

Now, any person of sense would have protested this ridiculous command. You do not dress like you are going to a funeral when you are riding a plane, unless you really are going to a funeral. If you are going to be in a plane for nine hours simply to arrive at your new home, you want to make sure you are comfortable, mobile, and, most importantly, able to breathe. Especially if you are to be crammed into a tiny little economy seat.

But this was way before I had any fashion or common sense, or the knowledge of what being on a plane was like. No one in the family had been on a plane before, except for my dad, who was already waiting for us on the other side of the ocean, warming up our new home. I was thirteen, and I was a good girl who always listened to her parents. I considered myself ignorant and Mom's words were always correct and absolute. So I obediently dressed in the outfit Mom provided. The stockings made my legs feel itchy and the blouse choked around my neck. It's all good, I said to myself. Mom knows what she's doing, she's a grown up.

After Mom French-braided my hair, I sat on the kitchen floor and slowly chewed the sandwich she had prepared the night before. My little brother, looking awkward and gawky in black trousers and a white dress shirt, sat on the other side of the room and swallowed his portion of food. As Mom walked by I noticed a panicked look on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“My friend can’t give us a ride to the airport anymore,” she replied. Since all our possessions, including our car, had either been sold or shipped already, we needed to find a ride. One of Mom’s friends had kindly offered to provide us with transportation. The only problem was that in order to reduce the air pollution and create cleaner atmosphere, the Korean government had just introduced this new policy in which cars ending with certain registration numbers were not allowed to drive on certain days, unless the driver paid an immense fine. Today, cars ending with number 5 were not allowed to drive. The registration number of Mom’s friend’s car was 4985.

My mind wandered off as Mom’s fingers frantically flipped through the phonebook and dialed various numbers. I imagined what it would be like to be on a plane. Most of my friends had been on a plane and talked about their experiences sometimes, but the words never gave me the full idea. I had seen its inside on the TV, but the images never really sank in either. The concept of plane always appealed to me as something meant only for someone else. It was hard to believe that I was actually going to be on a plane. My thoughts were abruptly stopped as a piece of plastic wrap bounced off my head. My brother had just failed a pathetic long-distance shot, which angered my already agitated mind, leading to a sudden war. We were about to tear each other’s arms off when Mom tore us apart and announced that our ride was here and that we soon needed to leave our old home forever.

I put on my black dress shoes as I stepped outside the house. They felt tight and hard against my feet, which were already beginning to miss the comfort of sneakers. Mom herself wore black high heels that measured about three inches. I looked back at the empty apartment for the last time. As soon as Mom turned the key, we walked outside the building.

There, in front of the apartment, stood a van. Huge, bright words slashed across its side: “Quick Delivery Service.” I turned toward Mom.

“Are you sure this is the right car?”

She was sure. Desperate to get to the airport on time, she had dialed the office of delivery service. She had paid for the delivery of one adult and two children from Bundang to the Samsung Airport Terminal, and her order was about to be filled. I hesitantly stepped into the van as the driver opened the door for me. It was clean inside, although some brown boxes and packages peeked through the backseat.

As our luggage was loaded onto the van, I lounged in the seat by the window. My beige messenger bag sat around my feet as I clutched its shoulder strap. The driver offered a place for it in the trunk, but I had always been paranoid of losing my precious belongings. I politely refused, so I could keep up with my OCD, checking on my valuable junks every two minutes. My brother sat down right next to me, and this insolent second grader was clearly invading my sacred space.

“You’re pushing me against the wall. Move.” I had to speak up for my rights.

“I need more room. Besides, Mom has to sit here. You move.”

“There’s nowhere to go. I can’t move. You move.”

“Move, both of you.” Mom cut in and forced herself between us, purposely pressing us toward the edges. I tried to stay in my place, but soon the desperate need of decent blood circulation took over. I eventually gave up and lowered myself to share the humble place with the cardboard packages in the backseat. Their unpleasant puke-like smell filled my impatient nostrils.

I ran out as fast as I could once the van reached the airport terminal, where we were to take care of all the documents and filing transactions. Mom filled out the papers, signed documents, argued with attendants, and almost lost her marbles; my brother and I played with the cards, doodled on paper, and lost ourselves in the fantasyland of the local bookstore. Mom finally announced that everything was taken care of, and that now we were riding a limousine to the Incheon International Airport.

“Limousine?” I asked, in a highly hopeful and excited voice.

“Yes, limousine.” Mom pointed at an ordinary bus, far from anything luxurious.

After all the long lines and metal detectors and confirmations, we were finally on the other side of the airport. Rows and rows of duty-free shops appeared before us. Tax-free Gucci and Prada lines showed off their stylish selves. Sadly, this was long before I had any knowledge of fashion brands or financial independence. All my eyes were on the exotic chocolates; Mom said no, but promised a Hershey bar once we got off the plane.

Mom herself was glued onto one specific product.

“Mom, doesn’t the plane leave at 4:00? It’s 3:45.” I walked up to her after circling around the area three times. She had remained in the exact same spot in the exact same position.

“Yes, just a sec.”

“Mom, you already have the wallet that looks exactly the same.”

“Yes, but this one is cheaper.”

“But you already have one that looks exactly the same.”

“Yes, but this one is cheaper.”

“Mom, I think we’re late.”

“Just one more sec.”

The hands of my watch kept ticking forward. My heart pounded at the rate of a hummingbird. My teeth gnawed on my fingernails. My feet tapped on the ground nervously. I kept telling myself everything would be all right. It’s all good. Mom’s a grown up, she knows what she’s doing. But my teeth had already hit the quick of the nail and blood rimmed around the edge.

After an eternity, Mom finally made up her mind and turned around with her wallet in one hand in its replica in the other. She looked at her watch. She panicked. We all ran toward the gate, but we knew we would not make it on time. That was, until Mom spotted a luggage car. She politely asked the driver if we could get a ride to our gate. With exhaustion and irritation on his face, he did not seem to be in the friendliest mood. He looked over at his watch. We had a little less than five minutes.

The cart slid smoothly through the crowd. The gate appeared in no time. After spitting out hasty words of gratitude, we ran to join the end of a disappearing line. The stewardess checked our boarding passes, flashed her perfectly practiced smile and led us into the plane. We were the last to board the plane. The passengers’ eyes followed us as we walked down the aisle. It was already quite packed, no empty seats visible. I was wondering whether I would have to stand up during the whole ride when the stewardess pointed to three empty seats aligned together next to a window.

I jumped into the window seat as quickly as I could and claimed it as mine. I slid open the window cover and looked outside through the thick glass. The right wing of the plane showed off its gigantic body. As I examined the plane’s anatomy, my brother and Mom took their seats. Mom sat between us, hoping to prevent any further arguments. As the flight attendant talked about the use of oxygen masks and how to react during an emergency, my brother and I insulted each other over Mom’s irritated head and missed all the guidelines. We still somehow managed to fasten our seatbelts and I closed the window cover, disappointed that I’d miss the view outside the window during the takeoff.

The takeoff was like being on a roller coaster, or a car climbing up the hills. Either way, the shift of gravity entertained me greatly. It ended too soon, but the stewardess announced that we were now allowed to open the window cover. I used my privilege and met the endless light blue hue unfolding without any boundaries. I had been waiting for this. It was the only reason I had ever been excited about the plane ride. No horizon, no boundaries; just blue. As the sound of the engine hummed, clumps of water vapors passed me by. They looked like mere fog, too delicate to hold anything physical, not the cushiony white carpets I’d always imagined. But I was soon denied my rights; the windows had to remain covered for the rest of the flight for safety reasons. I looked at the blue sky for the last time and slid the cover.

Time moved painfully slowly. The view of the beautiful blue sky had been banned. My supply of paper had run out along with my artistic creativity. The last page of my Harry Potter had already been turned long ago. My brother and I – shockingly – had gotten tired of annoying each other. It was warm inside the plane, and the blazer was growing too tight on me, so I took it off. Carefully hanging it on the headrest, I stood up on my seat and looked around. A middle-aged couple sitting behind us looked up. A very exotic man in turban sat next to them by the window.  Far away, the blank faces of passengers stared at me. That was when I noticed: we were the only ones that looked “appropriate” for this plane ride. Everyone else was dressed in loose, comfortable clothing that enabled them to breathe despite the poor environment of the economy seats. I slumped back into my seat and began to notice how tightly my shoes were squeezing my feet; the shoes had somehow grown smaller and my feet screamed to be let out. I dropped my shoes on the ground. My seat had somehow grown smaller, my clothes somehow tighter. I desperately wished I was in jeans and a t-shirt instead.

“Mom?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

“Why are we the only ones in formal dresses?”

She gave me a sharp look, but no response in return.

“No one else is. Mom, you’re supposed to wear comfortable clothes for a plane ride.”

“We want to look nice for Dad once we get off the plane, all right? Let’s do something nice for him for once.” She tightly closed her mouth and returned to her book. I saw that she had also dropped her shoes long ago. I sat there sulkily.

I stood up on my seat again, pretending to be looking for my separated imaginary family member. I scanned the front of the cabin. A pair of blue eyes turned around and smiled at me. Stylishly blonde haircut and shaven chin with straw-colored dots. A foreigner! He spoke.

“Hi.”

“Hell-low,” I replied tentatively, aware of my thick accent.

“How are you?”

“I’m fa-in. Tank you. End you?” I recited my old English textbook, but highly doubted whether he actually understood what I meant.

“Oh, I’m fine too. How old are you?”

“Sir-tin.”

“Excuse me, can you repeat that?”

I repeated it two more times but he still seemed clueless.

“I see. Do you like riding on a plane?”

I nodded. He smiled. I collapsed back into my seat and momentarily lost the eye contacts with him. Too late, he had already turned around and I was too shy to start a new conversation. I quietly sat there and stared at the chair in front of me. Soon, my eyes became heavy as the humming sound of the engine began to fade away.

When I opened my eyes again, the flight attendants announced that the plane was landing in less than an hour and handed out papers to fill out. Sweet. Something to do. I quickly grabbed a pen and fiercely filled in the blank boxes until I was met by an obstacle.

“Mom, is this the right way to spell Incheon in English? I-N-C-H-E-O-N?”

She was either ignoring me on purpose or not hearing me. Considering the noise level of the plane, it was probably the latter. But I was growing extremely impatient. I asked again.

“Mom, is this the right way to spell Incheon? I just want to make sure.”

No answer again. I raised my voice.

“Mom, I asked you a question!”

She finally turned around and corrected me. I crossed out what I had written down and wrote I-N-C-H-O-N above it. I checked my paper for one last time before turning it in when I saw the pamphlet of the Incheon International Airport sticking out of my seat. I-N-C-H-E-O-N. This pushed my buttons.

“Mom, you were wrong. Now I have to get a new paper and fill it out all over again and it’s ALL YOUR FAULT.”

My voice unintentionally came out as a loud, whiny squeak. Everyone was now staring at me. I wanted to step back and hide somewhere but there was nowhere to go. Mom turned to me.

“Must you start this in public? I told you to behave yourself. You’re embarrassing me.” Mom hissed at me in a voice quiet and fiery at the same time. Her angered lecture went on for a while as her voice got louder and louder. All the eyes were on us until the attendants awkwardly announced that they were now collecting the papers. This shifted everyone’s attention away from me, including Mom’s. I sat still and stared down at my thighs. I handed my paper and stared at them again. I did not know if I was embarrassed or not, but I was scared to look up at anyone. I quietly kept my head down until the seatbelts were on again. The plane was now landing.

Once again I was on a roller coaster, heading downhill this time. Before I knew it, it had stopped moving. People flowed through the small exit. My family and I remained in our seats until the congestion was gone. We were the last to get on the plane, now the last to get off. I put on my shoes to get ready and join the exodus. That is, I attempted to. They had grown even smaller while I had left them off my feet. Later I learned that the science phenomena involving air and blood pressure had caused my feet to swell during the plane ride. But I did not know or care about such fancy scientific facts; all I knew was that my feet did not fit in the darn shoes and I now had to walk in socks while carrying the shoes in one hand and my bag in the other.

My family and I walked down the empty concourse. It was completely empty and we were the only people. It was a long walk. The ground conveyers fascinated me at first but I soon grew tired of them. My feet were hurting and my legs were tired. When I was about to give up, we finally reached the exit. Mom made sure everyone looked “presentable” before the exit and forced my feet into my tiny shoes, making me feel like one of the Cinderella’s stepsisters. Then there were more lines to go through, and more waiting. Finally, we were free; we were outside.

Dad was standing there. He waved to us. We quickly walked up to him and stood in front of him. He looked at us. Mom smiled. She knew we looked nice. Dad opened his mouth.

“Formal wear? You guys look ridiculous.”