Chapter 1 The Beginning

I'll start as far back as I can remember and work my way forward. Things are fuzzy and there will be gaps but you will get the general picture.

My mother was half British and South Korean. From what I understand my grandmother was British and my grandfather South Korean. If they were married or not, I don't know. I don't remember either one of them. I barely remember my mother. My father, a South Korean was a solider in the military. While my memory of my father is limited, I believe it was a loving relationship. He was a good dad. Loving as a father can be, from what I remember. But as my life seem to go he was there one day and gone the next. As the story goes, he died while serving his country. I have no idea if that is true. I like to believe it is. I like to think I came from a loving union of two people. That I started my life from good beginnings. From a good man and a good woman.

I can't picture his face.  Its fuzzy when I try to remember. So I just fill in the blanks. I picture him handsome, strong and brave. A good man who provided for his family that loved his wife, eventho only half asian and his daughter. If you know anything about asian cultures, they don't care to marry out of their own race. I'm sure it wasn't easy for my mother being of mix races and hit the jackpot when she found a good man who didn't care she wasn't pure of race.
My mother was beautiful. Maybe not to other asians but to me she was. And once my father was gone I was her whole life.

My short life with my father and mother, together as a family was good. We lived well, middle class I would guess. Our home was by the mountains which could be viewed from the windows of our home. It was amazing...at least that's how I remember it. The house was filled with laughter and love. My mother would sit me by the window and comb my long hair, telling me how beautiful I was. How I looked more like my father, meaning more asian, and I would find a good korean husband someday like my father. But those heartwarming memories were soon to end.

After my father was gone we moved to the city. I must have been around 3 or so. My mother had to find work. She sewed. We lived aboved a seafood resturant. It wasn't a bad place. No mountain views, actually no view at all but rooftops and the dirty city. The landlord downstairs were nice and had kids my age I could play with. They watched me while my mother worked. She was gone a lot.

My days were spent mostly playing and watching the different people prepare all sorts of sea creators for the resturant. I saw turtles beheaded, octopus sliced and diced and all sorts of fish. The turtles interested me the most. They take a turtle out of the water bucket and wait. Wait for the turtle to stick its head out and than...whack! The headless turtle would go back into the bucket. The blood would turn the water red, like kool-aid. They still swim for a bit, headless but then nothing and the next one would be on the chopping block. Why this interested me, I don't know. I think I was facinated by the turtles and how even without its head it could still swim, even if it was only for seconds. The sound of the knife coming down to behead the turtle always made me jump. They never missed. Years of practice insured 100% kill rate. I never saw what they did after that to the turtles. I wasn't allowed in the resturant part often. But every once in awhile I got to see. People would be dining. I remember seeing people eating octopus. Some cooked but mostly raw. The tenticles still moving on their plate. They wrap the tenticles tight around chop sticks, dip it in a sauce and eat it. I often wondered what it tasted like, the texture. Not that the resturant was fancy but we never ate there. I would guess we didn't have the money to.

Life with just my mother and I wasn't bad. She still combed my hair everyday and filled my head with dreams of a loving husband who would take care of me and love me as my father did my mother. I was bright for my age and from what others told me, beautiful. It was always "beautiful girl, she won't have trouble finding a good husband".  While it was nice to be thought beautiful, I wondered if that's all it really mattered. My mother was beautiful, at least in my eyes, and love and happiness had only granted her a short amount of time. She worked hard to make sure I had everything. The long hours and being a single mother had taken its toll. While she as still young and attrative the stress was starting to show on her face.

My mother had big dreams for me. To marry well. That my "prettiness" would catch me a husband with means. That I would have a better life than she had.  I'm guessing that she didn't grow up with a lot. To think of it she didn't talk about her parents much, actually it was rare. I don't think I ever saw them. Maybe why I can't remember what they look like. I think life wasn't easy for her before my father. And now with him gone the hope and happiness disappeared for her. So I became her great hope.

I wonder what she would think if she knew me now? Would she be pleased at how my life turned out? Or would she be disappointed?