Hey-won

Hye-won

“How would you feel about moving to England?”

This was the question my father asked me and my siblings before uprooting our family and moving us from Illinois to the London suburb of Weybridge, Surrey. I began second grade at an international school full of students from around the world, all displaced due to the demands of their parents’ jobs. It was at this school that I met Hye-won.

Hye-won was from South Korea. She had short, silky black hair and was never seen without a headband. Since nearly all of her education had taken place at the international school I now attended, her English was that of a native speaker. She gave out smiles generously and laughed warmly at most things I said and did. Her easy going, accepting nature won me over, and we quickly became close friends.

Much of our time at school was spent together. We used printer paper and markers to make fake credit cards during class, laminating them with Scotch tape. On a bus ride home from a field trip, Hye-won gave me a lesson on South Korean characters. Inspired by the intricacies of her culture, I developed my own written language composed partially of what I had been taught by Hye-won and partially of random lines and squiggles. Taking into account all the fun we had together, the question she presented me with as we walked back from lunch one day should have thrilled me.

“Do you want to come over for a sleepover this weekend?”

I forced a smile. I had not realized it at the time, but at this age, one of my greatest fears was the unknown. Although I considered myself close with Hye-won, this question brought to my attention that I knew virtually nothing of her home life. Where did she live? What were her parents like? Did her parents speak English?

I had a vivid imagination, and the most absurd notion that ran through my head was that this might be some sort of trap. Would I be kidnapped and taken back to Hye-won’s native country? Was my new friend simply using me as a prop in her family’s grand crime scheme? My childhood self came to the subconscious conclusion that simply because Hye-won’s culture was different from my own, I had reason to fear it.

“I’ll have to ask my mom,” I responded.

I had no intention of ever bringing up the sleepover to my parents and decided I would let the offer fade away, but Hye-won was persistent. One thing led to another and somehow, that Friday, I was riding Hye-won’s bus home with her, accompanied by an overnight bag and my feelings of uncomfortable uncertainty.

The bus pulled up in front of an apartment complex and Hye-won notified me,

“Here’s our stop!”

My fears were not subdued. Coming from a Midwestern hometown of cookie cutter suburban homes and middle class wealth, I had never had a friend who lived in an apartment. I had never even set foot in one of these buildings. My mind raced with all of the frightful things I assumed took place within a living space of this kind.

I followed Hye-won up to the entrance of the establishment. She pressed a button and spoke into an intercom system. After doing so, a lock clicked, and we were granted entry into the building. We made our way across the ground floor to the end of the hall.

“This is my door!”

I nodded my head, prompting her to knock. The door opened and a small woman I immediately recognized as Hye-won’s mother stood in the entryway. The two exchanged a hug and a few words in Korean before Hye-won informed me,

“She doesn’t speak much English, but she is very happy to finally meet you!”

Hye-won introduced the two of us and although I could not be greeted verbally, I soon determined from where Hye-won inherited her contagious smile.

The woman ushered us into the home, a small two-bedroom apartment centered around an open space that served as the kitchen, eating area, and living room. As her mother cooked us dinner, Hye-won showed me to her room. Pink was the prominent color in the bedroom, and Hello Kitty paraphernalia covered most surfaces. We sprawled out on the floor and flipped through countless South Korean picture books as the warmth of Hye-won’s mother’s cooking quickly filled the home.

When I sat down to supper in front of a plate of white rice and what appeared to be a mixture of cooked vegetables and some sort of dark meat, I had the fleeting thought that the foreign dish sitting in front of me might be poisoned. However, my hunger and the encouraging looks of Hye-won’s mother got the best of me, and I ate.

The meal was delicious, and despite the language barrier between Hye-won’s mother and myself, the three of us were able to engage in conversation with my friend acting as a translator. Her mother asked about my background and interests, and I inquired about South Korea and Hye-won’s family. I learned that Hye-won’s father worked long hours and was often away on business trips, so I would not be seeing him that evening. As we spoke, all of my doubts regarding Hye-won and her family faded away.

After eating, I helped clear the table, eager to spend more time learning from Hye-won’s mother. Hye-won and I spent the remainder of the evening playing pretend in the apartment’s private garden, messing around on her dad’s elliptical, and staging mock X-Factor song and dance performances, taking turns playing the role of judge.

As the sky grew dark and the evening drew to a close, Hye-won and I arranged sleeping bags and blankets on the living room floor. When it came time for bed, neither of us felt tired. Each time we tried to lay down to rest, one of us would find some new joke to make or occurrence from the day to laugh at. Our laughter grew so loud that Hye-won’s mother had to exit her bedroom and whisper to her daughter what I knew meant we would have to settle down.

As my eyes grew heavy, I took one final assessment of my surroundings. From my spot on the floor, I could see the stove where Hye-won’s mother had prepared dinner, the round table we had eaten at, the elliptical we had played on, and the front door through which my body and my fears had first entered. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

When my mom picked me up the next morning, I was not met with the relief I had guessed I would feel when I had imagined this moment. I was sad to leave.

“How was it?” my mother inquired.

“Great!”

I wasn’t lying. I would have been happy staying over at Hye-won’s every night for the rest of that week. By the end of the sleepover, my fear had transformed to joy. My time in Hye-won’s home revealed to me that while cultural differences may have existed between us, no boundary stood in the way of our friendship.