hometown glory

North America » United States » California » Placerville
August 19th 2011

Published: August 22nd 2011

Flickers of salt drenched hair that smells faintly sweet with the remnants of shampoo, bare toes clutching rocks to keep from falling into an ice cold river, flashes of red, green, and blue lights as people in sandals, ripped up shirts, and summer dresses have their own unique seizures to the drumming and strumming of the band. Piles and piles of glistening food, beer foaming over the top that spatters on your hand as you slam it into its carbon copy for a cheers, and family and friends all smiling and content. My mind would drift to these scenes when I trudged through dirty snow or was on my tenth try of trying to pick up a quail egg with my chopsticks. Little biased vignettes of a state of perfection; my California. I missed it dearly and yet not so much that I had wanted to stay. It didn't take much thought to plan my vacation there for summer. My empty nesting parents would have hit the roof if I'd gone off to an South East Asian paradise instead of coming home to give them a blip of a reunion with their globe trotting daughter. Besides I needed it. Worn out, burnt out, and wanting a break from Korea. So I got on a plane to my California daydream.

I had wondered if reverse culture shock would strike as it had so violently when I'd returned to the States from Sweden. Arriving at LAX, I noticed how little I stood out, how obese everyone was, and how LOUD and unashamed Americans can be as bickering families pushed by me with suitcases and Starbucks in hand. But once I embraced my mom and dad at the bottom of the stairs, I felt like no time had passed and I had never left. I was no foreigner. We went straight to In-n-Out for a cheeseburger. It was as delicious as I remembered but it made me sick. My stomach was obviously not ready for the gastronomic roller coaster it was about to go on. A parade of plates of fried ravioli, spinach dip, pork sliders, burritos that looked like swaddled infants, dishes you could use as rain cover, and goblets of blood red wine that sloshed to show off its perfect legs. For my party, the table was covered in bean, avocado, cilantro salad, cinnamon chips., fruit salsa, mango rice, and piles of chicken and pork to stuff. The Keg-i-rator, my dad's invention, pumped freshly brewed beer from a mini fridge, out of a metal tap and into red cups. Sangria was mixing next to orange infused fortune cookies, that were cracked open after the chocolate chilli pepper cake and banana toffee pie were eaten. America at its best. It amazes me that the country hasn't exploded into one large fatty mound of humans (or maybe it has) but luckily my co-teacher told me she was happy that I didn't get fat in America so I guess the runs through the golden hills with my golden puppy did their job.

Korea seems to be devoid of animals, save for a few squirrels, ratty dogs, and maybe a dragonfly or two. California has more than its share. Going on my old running route in Coloma brought back the heart pounding fear that a rattlesnake or mountain lion could be around the next corner. My first day home I saw a fox and throughout my vacation I saw the usual bunches of deer and turkeys. My weirdest animal moment was when I woke up in the middle of the night hearing what sounded like the devil torturing small animals. I imagined dark black nostrils spewing steam and smoke as some small rabbit got stabbed. Honestly, it was a truly frightening noise. I asked my dad about it in the morning and he said what I had heard were the grunts of a buck. People think deer aren't scary? After that and the incident where I heard a mountain lion shrieking and thought it was a woman being murdered, I can't say being in an animal-less country is all that bad...

Sleeping in my childhood bed surrounded by 20 some years of belongings felt comforting and yet it also felt restraining. Once again, I was asking my parents to borrow the car. I was wearing my dusty flowery clothes and leafing through scrawled in yearbooks, sweet and innocent love letters, and secret notes that had been passed in class. Being in that room always makes me feel like I'm incessantly repeating the past. I do love to get nostalgic, but I'm not the person I was at 17 anymore. More than anything that's what my old belongings showed me.

Even though I no longer get a feeling of entitlement, as in "this is my town" when I'm in Placerville, I am still a Californian through and through. Driving my car fast, listening to the crappy Black Eyed Peas cd that was still in there, up to the apple orchards where the colors of the produce are striking reds and blushing pinks, going on an excessive shopping trip at Target (or as us classy folk call it, Tar-J) where I bought lots of bad food and good wine, kayaking the American River with my mom and dad and watching a 9 year old girl learn how to roll, running as fast as I can to keep up with my dog Jack whose dumb happiness is infectious, once again drinking Blue Moon in a close to empty bar with my ladies, the green vineyards of Sonoma where the farms and the people are rustic and full of life, and the cool winds of San Francisco; the city that will always possess me. My golden state is something to behold and I appreciate it even more living abroad.

Near the end of my vacation, my thoughts were drifting to Korea. I was excited to see my friends and get to work on my lesson plans. I'd even sat in on my dad's middle school classes as if I couldn't go more than a week without being in a school setting...I missed white rice wrapped in salty papery seaweed, the strange scents, giggling students, public transportation, meat, meat, and more meat dripping in red oil as my hand muscles tensed to work my metal chopsticks, the eighties fashions, short skirts, and virginal dresses, t-shirts with incorrect English, mountains surrounding me, baking cookies in my coveted oven, and the people who I'd come to love so very much.

I'll always have a soft spot for my hometown but it's no longer my home. For now, Korea is where the heart is.

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