최종적으로 Finally

Truth is often stranger than fiction, and international communication is often more humorous than a Three Stooges movie.  After 41 years, the Republic of Korea still hasn’t officially recognized that I’m no longer a Korean citizen.

One rainy morning two weeks ago, my very handsome younger brother Chulsoo sent an urgent email saying that all of my parents’ children must sign legal documents, giving permission to sell my mother’s house.  If the documents aren’t signed by me, he wrote, then mother’s house will languish in bureaucratic limbo until the bank takes over and liquidates.  My family would lose the equity they have in mother’s house.

My Parents, Myonghsuk, Chulsoo, Whasoon, Pyongsoo, and Myongja. My Father’s 60th Birthday.

Many Korean children – like me – have been put up for adoption without the proper paperwork, but apparently unanimous agreement by siblings is a legal necessity in some real estate transactions.  Other biological families of Korean adoptees get around these obstacles by simply declaring the adoptee “missing”.   They fill out the appropriate forms, the adopted child is documented as lost somewhere in the world and unavailable, and the family moves on legally.  My family, however, celebrated my return in 2008.  They welcomed me back into the family.  They could have just listed me as missing and saved themselves a lot of trouble, but they are choosing to embrace me legally.  Not only do I exist – according to them – I am a cherished member of the family.

The closest Korean consulate to Minneapolis, however, is the one in Chicago.  Faxes and notary stamps would not suffice, according to my brother.  I would have to go there in person and try, with what little paperwork and pictures I have, to prove that I am Myonghi Lee.  It was the Memorial Weekend Friday, so Brad and I had started checking on flights to the windy city.  The trip was going to be a pain; hundreds of dollars spent flying there to sign papers and then racing right back in time for work.

I called the Chicago consulate to see if they would be open on the holiday Monday.  The woman I talked to told me something I was extremely relieved to hear.  The Korean consulates dispatch outreach teams all over the United States so Koreans don’t have to travel to get green cards, visas, or other documentation.  A Korean consulate team was scheduled to open the next day in a suburb just a half hour from my home.  Once again, I thought, my late Korean father was watching over me.  Instead of flying to Chicago, all I had to do was drive to Brooklyn Center, MN.

The next day at work, I wrangled half the day off.  Since I start work at 5:00 am, I arrived at KAA fairly early.  Unfortunately, the team only comes to Minnesota once a year, and scores of other Koreans and Korean Americans had already showed up.   The hallway leading to the KAA office was packed.  Kids were running all over the place, and every room I looked into was full.  A man standing in the doorway handing out numbers gave me a card with the number 45 on it.  He took me into a room with a big oval table.  A beautiful young Korean woman was filling out paperwork at that table with an elderly Korean woman sitting across from her doing the same.  We both sat down, and he started asking me questions.

“What is your brother’s phone number?” He asked.

“I don’t know. I never call him.  We need an interpreter when we speak.”

The man looked confused, so I explained to him about my Korean family and why they needed my signature.  “Take this and wait for your number to be called,” he said, as he handed me the finished paperwork. 

Over 4 hours later my number was called.  The same man who helped earlier lead me into the waiting area.  He said that over 100 people showed up that day for consulate services. “The Consulate usually comes about once a year, but since we had such a huge showing we have decided to come again in October.”

최종적으로

Then he passed me along to a woman who told me a notary stamp would be required.  By then, I was exasperated, but I had no choice.  I exited the building and headed off to my bank.  Thank heaven there was a branch office nearby.   I got the proper stamps and signatures, and finally raced back and got everything squared away.

The next business day, Brad ran the papers over to the post office and sent the papers off to my brother in Geumsan.  As is usual with bureaucratic messes, I came away exhausted and frustrated.  But there was also a light feeling inside of my heart that day.  My family was claiming me as a member again.  It felt good to be real, to be officially “recognized” by my family.  I’m not missing.   I’m no longer lost.

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