My Life in Seattle for 2 years
I was born in Bundang, and I do not remember a single thing about it (I lived there until I was three.) My first memory was when I was three, inside the airplane going to Seattle; the flight attendant telling me to eat my vegetables. I remember watching a funny animation, although I do admit I was expecting a different movie when reading the title, and thought that the animation I was watching was an hour long advertisement.
(Not exactly our house, but similar)
Our house was one of the many houses in a two-story apartment building. We had a large backyard, slightly slanted, and big stone steps(?) that were taller than me at the time being. Inside the house, there was a fire-place, and every once in a while my parents would by some timber and light it up when I was reading books. Next to the fire-place, a wall-mounting television was placed, and I could watch TV for most of the day (I admit I watched a lot of television.)
I went to preschool, met a teacher who was either Asian or Arabic, learned different ways of finger-counting from that teacher, played with lots of friends, carved pumpkins during Halloween, learned how to be polite, and so on. I liked preschool. The only sore memory of it was when I tripped on the stone stairs, scratching my knee pretty bad and bawling at the top of my lungs.
My family went to church (I'm not sure if they're Christian, since they never went to church after coming back to Korea.) I also followed my family to church every Sunday, but instead of praying, I played with my another Korean friend, Isaac. We played with the toys inside the church playroom and I remember I had really liked a small toy race car.
When it was snowing, my two sisters and I would play snow ball fights in the slightly slanted backyard. It was slightly slanted because it was a small hill. While my sisters built small snow fortresses, it was my job to make snowballs and give them to any sister I pleased. One vivid memory I have is that my sisters used to stack their snowballs at the corner of the big stone steps(?), and I had a hard time trying to hoist myself while carrying the snowballs. The snowball fights I had with my sisters was lots of fun and I had never felt the same kind of ecstasy with some simple snowball fights in Korea.
My mother told me that I thought I was an American until I was 8 years old. Sounds quite weird, but when recalling the fact the only part of my childhood I remember is when I was in Seattle, it doesn't seem that much of a lie. Seattle means a lot more than just a reminiscence to me. Seattle is my second-home.
(Not exactly our house, but similar)
Our house was one of the many houses in a two-story apartment building. We had a large backyard, slightly slanted, and big stone steps(?) that were taller than me at the time being. Inside the house, there was a fire-place, and every once in a while my parents would by some timber and light it up when I was reading books. Next to the fire-place, a wall-mounting television was placed, and I could watch TV for most of the day (I admit I watched a lot of television.)
I went to preschool, met a teacher who was either Asian or Arabic, learned different ways of finger-counting from that teacher, played with lots of friends, carved pumpkins during Halloween, learned how to be polite, and so on. I liked preschool. The only sore memory of it was when I tripped on the stone stairs, scratching my knee pretty bad and bawling at the top of my lungs.
My family went to church (I'm not sure if they're Christian, since they never went to church after coming back to Korea.) I also followed my family to church every Sunday, but instead of praying, I played with my another Korean friend, Isaac. We played with the toys inside the church playroom and I remember I had really liked a small toy race car.
When it was snowing, my two sisters and I would play snow ball fights in the slightly slanted backyard. It was slightly slanted because it was a small hill. While my sisters built small snow fortresses, it was my job to make snowballs and give them to any sister I pleased. One vivid memory I have is that my sisters used to stack their snowballs at the corner of the big stone steps(?), and I had a hard time trying to hoist myself while carrying the snowballs. The snowball fights I had with my sisters was lots of fun and I had never felt the same kind of ecstasy with some simple snowball fights in Korea.
My mother told me that I thought I was an American until I was 8 years old. Sounds quite weird, but when recalling the fact the only part of my childhood I remember is when I was in Seattle, it doesn't seem that much of a lie. Seattle means a lot more than just a reminiscence to me. Seattle is my second-home.
I feel for you. Seattle is an amazing city and one that is basically in the "pay to live there" category. It is beautiful, and therefore expensive and exclusive. I hope you get to back there, just like I hope I get to move back to Vancouver someday. But, you have to pay to live there. Not always practical.
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