Brothers under a Same Sky

Part Three

1• Part Three •2 153 June 25, 1991 Dear Il Hwan, First of all, I don’t really know how to talk to you, this being the first time that I’m talking or writing to my brother. I never had a brother, well, now I have one, but what I mean is that I never knew I had a brother until Dad told me that I had one. And I’m thirty-four years old. I guess anytime is a good time to know that you have a brother, or a sister, for that matter. But why did they wait so long to tell me about it. I’m thirty-four years old. Anyway, this letter is supposed to be for you, Il Hwan, my brother. I really don’t know your name. Dad told me he thought this might be your name, so I’m using this name as your name. Anyway, hello, Il Hwan, my brother. Sure sounds funny, saying that I have a brother. I really don’t have a brother, but then again I have a brother. Dad told me that he had you with your mother back before the Korean War when he was stationed in Korea with the U.S. Army. And he said that you might have died in the Korean War. He doesn’t know. I don’t know. For all that matters, you might have died in the Korean War, or you might be living and raising a family in Seoul. I think that is the capital city in Korea, right? Maybe you might have a family—how many kids do you have?—maybe I’m an auntie. That sounds strange. That I might be an auntie. Really strange. But also, Dad said that you might have died during the war. You must have been about three or maybe four years old when the Korean War broke out. I heard that it was a devastating war. Uncle Nammi never talked about the war. The war really did a number on him. He came back a changed man, as my Dad—our father—often used to tell me. I never knew exactly what he changed from, but Uncle Nammi did start acting a bit strange in his later years, which eventually put him in a mental institution. So, I don’t know how I would act if I met you. I do hope you are alive, that you did not die in the Korean War. You would be about ten years older than me. I was born in 1957. 154 1• Gary Pak •2 Maybe one day we can meet. I hope you are alive and well in Korea. Maybe you are living in Seoul. I wouldn’t know how to start to look for you. Dad doesn’t know anything about you. Now when I see a Korean male who looks about ten years older than me I think that maybe he might be you, my brother. That is very strange. That I might meet my brother but not know that it is you. Very strange. In some ways I wish Dad didn’t tell me about you, but then again I’m glad that he told me. At least now I know that I am not the only child that I thought I always was. Now I can say I have a brother and not feel so isolated like how I used to feel when I was a child. Why didn’t he tell me then? Now it kind of really doesn’t matter that I have a brother or not. But when I was a little girl, it might have meant a lot to have an older brother. I grew up thinking that I was the only child and not having any brothers or sisters. If it was something I could do again it would be growing up again with a brother or sister, like my other friends who had a brother or sister or brothers and sisters and even though sometimes they didn’t like them, they could always say, “Yeah, this is my brother,” or “Yeah, this is my sister.” I always envied them. But now that I have knowledge about you, at least now I can say that I have—or had—a brother. But this is strange now that when I see someone who looks Korean and is older than me that...