by Hyewon Yun, South Korea

I am from Seoul, the capital city of South Korea, a fast-paced metropolitan city of over 10-million people. Every bit of your daily routine is a competition when you live with so many people in such limited space: shoving and pushing is a must to take a subway or a bus during rush hours. Throwing yourself into the closing doors of an already moving car is optional.  If you drive, you need to change lanes constantly to make any progress in the heavy traffic that runs at the average speed of 8.6 miles an hour. You have to run to grab a lunch table because other office workers with growling stomachs are pouring out of building after building. You have to be even faster to squeeze a minute and stand in line to secure a cup of Starbucks coffee before going back to the office. It is unnecessary to discuss how crazy it is to get an admission to the country’s prestigious schools, land a good job, buy a house in a good neighborhood, et cetera, et cetera.

Now imagine how I felt when I first arrived in South Bend, Indiana, USA. Everything was very low.  And it looked empty. This was what struck me first: few tall buildings, few glaring neon signs, few hip restaurants or coffeehouses, and even fewer people on the street – the sky and the land, and almost nothing in between. I was dumbfounded, muttering to myself, “Oh my god. Now am I going to spend two years here? Can I…?” My husband kept apologizing for dragging me into such a remote place. 730 days in the States were waiting for me like a long, desolate road under the wide sky.

At first, I thought the wide open sky of South Bend was like an IMAX screen, and then, I was amazed by the colorful and diverse shows on nature’s screen: the morning breaking with golden strands of sunshine, the endless expanse of true blue, the crimson and purple feathers of clouds during sunset, the darkening veil of the night cooled by balmy breezes, the dazzling gleams of the frozen sky after a snowfall… The shows were beyond my wildest imagination, and the sky’s repertoire seemed limitless.  Under the sky, busy and crowded was the land. It was inhabited by a variety of wildlife such as wild geese, ducks, herons, swans, rabbits, chipmunks, cardinals, robins, fireflies, deer and many more creatures. Shy spring buds of tall trees became a commanding thick green and then turned into billowing huge balls of yellow, brown or red before finally being blanketed with quiet snow. All these sights were inexplicably relaxing and soothing, which touched my soul. While driving along the streets lined by the old trees with mellow autumn colors, I often realized that tears were rolling down my face.

However, it was only a prelude to the American West. During my husband’s summer break, we travelled 13,000 miles, visiting most of the national parks in the West.  I saw endless mountain ridges, towering peaks, otherworldly shaped rocks, scorching dry deserts, dizzily deep canyons, bottomless cliffs, unbelievably clear lakes, and gigantic falls.  They were high, vast and deep.  They were barren and silent.  They were also embracing and comforting.  How small and powerless humans are!  How meaningless human anxiety, insecurity and greed are!  I took mental photos of these moments so that I would remind myself of this message whenever I am clouded by doubt, vanity or restlessness.

I had been tired of the unforgiving pace of the urban life even before I came to the States. I had often said that I wanted to live closer to nature. But I did not visualize what it would be like. Now I understand and believe in Mother Nature’s healing power: it is the chicken soup for the soul, meditation for the spirit, and a remedy for the body. That was the moment my husband and I started to discuss where and how we would live once we get back to Korea. We used to say that we would leave Seoul and lead a quieter life someday, but where, when and how are now more specific.

People were also what I found between the sky and the land in America. I’ve met many amazing people in this town, which had looked so empty at first sight. My teachers at ISSA’s English as a Second Language (ESL) program for international spouses, Ann, Beverly, and Mary, were the ones who happily became the safety net for me and my fellow students, whenever we get confused about who we are and what we are doing or suffer from identity conflict, loneliness and isolation away from home. My volunteer tutor, Teresa, invited my husband and me to her family’s Easter dinner, saying that her family often has guests for holidays, and that she learned it from her parents who had always done the same. She was the one who taught me that the spirit of American holidays is sharing, not just shopping, eating or having fun.

I, an atheist, was unsure when I was first invited to the Korean ladies’ Bible study group. But the group turned out to be very inclusive and welcomed those who have different religions or none.  They prayed for each other, shared homemade Korean delicacies, and helped those in trouble. The leader of the group arranges weekly meetings, preparing only the best available food and giving a ride to anyone who has no transportation. One lady in the group plants tomatoes, sesame, cucumbers and many other vegetables in her micro-backyard; composts and nurtures them during summer; and happily shares the harvest with everyone else in autumn.  Another group member put up a family returning to Korea for a week when the family’s apartment contract expired. These experiences showed me that this world does not have only takers, but givers.

One of the highlights in my American life is cooking. I never cooked back home, but cooking is the bread-and-butter issue of survival here, because, first, it is a mission impossible to find a good restaurant in this town that caters to Korean tastes; and second, groceries are inexpensive here, but restaurant services aren’t. This was by far the most imminent and toughest domestic task for me, but it turned out to be the most rewarding achievement in my whole life. I found that nothing gives me more joy than looking at happy smiles spread on the faces of the people I love after they take a first bite of my food, and that no other achievement I have ever made has brought more bliss to others.  The plates of my food were often returned with much more food, and the love and care I showed to others were returned with much more love and care. The virtuous cycle of sharing was endless.

I had never been interested in serving people in such a way in Korea, and I could not afford to when I was so preoccupied with the relentless daily rat race there. But I realize now that it can make a bigger difference than any diploma, well-paying job, or higher corporate position can. After all, great ideas or endeavors can better reach out to people only when they are accompanied by love and compassion.

“If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.” – Corinthians 13:2