kyoung lee - n.o.w.h.e.r.e

When Mom passed away,

I realized that I didn’t know much about her. Not as my mom,

but as a living creature with her own dreams and frustrations.

Born as a woman in pre-modern Korean society, she was not allowed to live full

with her brilliant talent and potential.

All that’s left of Mom is her blouses and dresses most of which are all floral-patterned,

her all time favorite.

I grab those worn blouses and dresses in which a body once warm and aging, passionate and tender used to breathe.

I hang them against the backdrop of her backdoor forest and

let the wind and light pass through and dance upon them.

Mom in her teen years(the one in the upper-middle.)

Mom was one of the few girls admitted to a prestigious school of education and was even appointed the student president. On their way to school, most of girls stuck together shying away from the boys' main road. But Mom did not. She walked on the center of the road and the boys immediately split into either side of the road to make a way.

Mom in 'Hanbok' (traditional Korean costume)

However, after graduation, like most women at that time she didn't get a chance to pursue her dreams.

Five years have passed since Mom's death.

And now, not the wind but her little granddaughters put her blouses on.

Hye-in and Ji-in, my twin nieces (12 years old )

Hye-in, dancing

Mom used to be a great dancer,too. I remember being taken aback when mom lifted her arm to show us some Korean traditional dance moves. A graceful dancer was right in front of us, radiant even in her everyday shabby outfit. One of the rare moments when we were allowed to witness her hidden passion and talent.

mom and me with my first bike

Life is maybe just a few flutterings in the wind.

From 'nowhere' to 'now here', and vice versa, always oscillating in between.

While we are allowed to flutter, I wish the wind were less harsh

so that our little women could fly high and free.

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