Nostalgia pt. 2

Mon came down to Lake Elsinore last week. Every time Mon is in town, I drive over to the other side of the lake. My mom’s place is in Wildomar, across the lake from the town of Lake Elsinore. I grew up in Lake Elsinore and most of my childhood memories are on that side of the lake.

I dropped off Mon at her home in the evening and drove back to my mom’s. I passed by a couple of my old homes. My family moved around a lot when I was a kid. I think that’s why I hate moving. We have lived at 5 different homes in Lake Elsinore alone.

I passed by Sue’s old street. She used to live at a house at the very end of the street. I remember going to Sue’s house for the first time for her birthday and we had a treasure hunt. I remember feeling kind of nervous and excited about being invited to Sue’s birthday party.

I drove into a housing track. The sky suddenly and dramatically grew dark. I may have just noticed that it was dark the instant I turned right into the neighborhood. It began to rain. I cautiously drove into the neighborhood. I didn’t know what emotional landmines I would encounter. It was so bizarre to look at the houses. They looked exactly the same. The paint, steps, doors and driveways looked exactly the same as when I was a child. I felt so different and changed, yet my surroundings reflected 1992.

I first drove down Heather Ln. I slowly passed by Gina Kim’s house. She was my best friend in elementary school until 4th grade. We had some sort of fight, I think. I don’t even remember. We became friends again later on. Her next-door neighbor on the left was Connie. I think she was a couple of years older than us. She died in a car accident when we were in elementary school. I think that was the first time that someone I knew died. It was so strange seeing her picture in announcements. Gina and I would look up at the window in Connie’s room and notice how everything was covered with white sheets. I used to calculate how old Connie would have been every year a new year book came out. I don’t know why I did that. I used to wonder quite often about her and what kind of life she would have lived. I did that until high school.

Isaac and Amanda lived to the right of Gina. I used to baby-sit them. I looked at their driveway and noticed the lines on the concrete. We used to play four square. We played handball on the garage door.

I proceeded to go up the hill and noticed that the street wasn’t as big as I remembered. The street wasn’t as steep as I remembered it either. I remember I rode my bike down the street once and my brakes broke, so I had to make the sharpest turn and I almost skidded on the ground. My heart still beats fast when I think about that moment. I thought about the time Peter (Gina’s brother) and I collided on our bikes when he rode his bike with no hands on the handlebars. He ran over my leg and I thought I was going to be crippled forever.

I finally came across 15060 Heather Ln., our first home in Lake Elsinore. My father ambitiously and foolishly bought a house that was too big and simply too much for our little family. He likes big houses. As a child, I loved the big house. My father nailed two big chalkboards in the garage. This became my classroom. I loved playing school. I remember I had a playroom and bedroom. I thoroughly enjoyed this house. I was too young to know about the financial burden of this house. I later learned of this and hated the house after that. I now dislike big houses. I suppose I could just focus on the happy moments. My half-sisters moved out of our house when we lived in Fountain Valley. However, they still visited us on holidays when we lived at this house. I really liked my oldest sister. My father’s favorite was my third oldest sister. But, I liked my oldest sister because she played with me. She called me Koala and bought me stationery.

My next-door neighbors were three brothers. They were all extremely tall and played basketball. Lance, the middle child was the same age as me. They all looked like giants to me. Jisan lived across the street. We were introduced to one another when I was six and she was five. They said that I was her “goh-moh” (aunt in Korean). I don’t think we really understood why, but she’s called me goh-moh ever since that moment. I guess her grandfather and my father are second cousins or something like that.

I slowly drove to the end of Heather Ln. and made a right turn. I made another right turn on Christina Ct. I slowed down even more. I stopped in front of a brown house. The lights were turned on and I wondered if the people who lived in that house were happy. I hoped that their happy memories would overpower my miserable memories in that house. I think we moved to this house when I was in junior high. That’s when I began to understand the financial burdens of my parents. I talked to the landlord for my parents, lied to the landlord, pleaded with the landlord. This girl from Korea lived with us. She was and still is annoyingly critical of me. Shinwoong lived with us. We get along now, but we had a few explosive fights while we lived there. It’s funny when I think about it now. We would scream and slam doors. I don’t think I could do that now.

Hyuk lived with us at this house too. I really liked him. I thought that he could be the big brother I always wanted. He didn’t talk much, but we had a couple of deep conversations. The electricity went out one night, so we sat outside in the backyard and talked for a couple of hours. He mostly talked about his girlfriend in Korea. The moon was so bright that night. I liked listening to him tell me stories about Korea and his friends. One day, I heard violent knocking on the door. I opened the door to find our infuriated landlord. He began yelling at me. I froze. I had dealt with him before, but for some reason at that moment, I couldn’t do anything. He towered over me and I remember his angry face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so angry. I froze in fear. I felt an arm on my upper chest pushing me back. I stepped back alarmed and saw Hyuk’s back in front of me. I don’t even remember what he said to the landlord. I don’t think he really even spoke English at the time. But, he made the landlord go away. He closed the door and turned around. I was still frozen. He asked me if I was okay. I sat down on the ground and cried. He sat next to me and just listened to me cry. He didn’t hug me, pat me or comfort me. He simply listened to me cry. That’s all I needed.

As I looked inside the house once more, I decided to leave those moments in that house. I think one positive aspect of moving a lot is that I can leave certain memories in a particular house. Each house is a photo album, filled with snapshots of my life while I lived there. I decided to file the albums away. It’s not being in denial. I acknowledge that they’re there. I browse through them once in a while. I just don’t want to get caught up in those moments and eventually get trapped in those moments. As I write about those moments now, I can reflect and move forward. I can see that I have grown the most and depended on God the most during those seemingly difficult times. I never want to forget that lesson. I hope to live in contentment, thanksgiving and joy. I want to be able to drive by these houses and smile as I pass by. Maybe I’ll test it out in a month or so.