Looking back, I honestly don’t know what I was thinking when I came to the United States. I landed in Arizona with zero connections, barely able to speak a word of English, and with nothing in my bank account except the savings from my military service. It all started during my senior year of college while attending a fasting retreat with a student mission group. I vaguely remember making up my mind: "Once I'm discharged, I should go to the US to learn some English and experience what Puritan faith is all about." Having left home during high school, my life as a wanderer away from family continued through college, military service, and right into the US just one month after finishing my service. That was August 2001, when Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport welcomed me with its scorching heat. Since I had nowhere to stay, I unpacked my bags temporarily in an annex provided by a local Korean church. The pastor and his wife were deeply kind people. My immediate priority was earnin...
The last bus home from school left around ten at night, as I remember it. The commute felt like wasted time, so I moved into the high school dormitory. Fifty-some students to a class, seven classes in all. Most of my friends were, I suppose you could say, obsessed with studying. The school kept a few rooms for the handful of us who had come up from the countryside. They were small enough that calling them a "dormitory" felt like a stretch. There must have been a cafeteria, but spending money did not come easily to me. My mother gave me money for meals once a week, and I knew what it had cost her to earn it. There was a friend who brought me lunch. Evening study hall ended around nine, I think, though quite a few stayed in the classroom past midnight. I could not afford a cram school, and there was no way for me to catch up to friends who were already ahead. A lunch box, and then a dinner box. That is how my friend — or rather, my friend's mother — gave me a love I ...
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