Finding Junie Kim: Book III

That is how bad leaders stay in power: by using fear to silence people from speaking and stop journalists from reporting. But that all changed when the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was created and began investigating the massacres.

That is how bad leaders stay in power: by using fear to silence people from speaking and stop journalists from reporting. But that all changed when the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was created and began investigating the massacres.

Grandpa takes a moment to compose himself.

Grandpa gives me a chiding look. “He was only twelve years old, just like me. And he had suffered terribly. Try to put yourself in his shoes.”

“I am sympathetic,” I say indignantly.

Dreamers are idealists who still believe the world is good.

Cynics are realists who view the world with skepticism.

Then he told me that most cynics were once dreamers who became disillusioned.

“I’m all right now,” I respond without elaborating.

She gazes back solemnly. “My cousin Ashley got hospitalized for suicidal thoughts.”

You think you are imposing on us and you feel guilty.

I still feel guilty, but I’m going to let my relief override it.

“Yeah, okay, so I have a lot of thoughts,” she says with a rueful smile.

The first thing they ask me is if I’m hungry. It’s funny because I’m usually not until they ask me, and then I’m ravenous.

“I’m always ready!” he grouses good-naturedly.

Stifling my giggle, I say, “Tell us about an important event from your life.”

My uncle Paul is gay, and they’ve always been accepting of him and his partner, Simon. Except that Grandma still holds a grudge against Simon for making Uncle Paul move all the way to Seattle.

I’ve seen photos of my grandpa when he was younger. He wasn’t a handsome model type, but he was really cute, with a smile that made him more attractive than any movie star. Okay, so I might be biased.

I’ve surpassed shock now; my mind is officially blown. I just can’t believe this news.

“Martial law? What’s that?”
“It means that normal laws don’t apply, because the government has called in the military to enforce their law over all its citizens. It’s a terrible power. So many South Koreans died protesting. We don’t know what would have happened if we’d stayed there.”

I don’t know if we would have been better off in Korea, but I do not doubt that I gave my children a chance at a better life during a very turbulent time in our own country, and I am grateful for that opportunity.

Even though it is a club for students of color to meet and talk about prejudices they deal with, we are open to everyone who wants to come and learn.

Our first meeting is Wednesday at lunch, and we even got a stipend so we can have snacks.

I keep looking at the handwriting, and it looks so familiar to me. I’ve seen it before. That weird scrawl of small and large letters that slant to the left instead of to the right.

And to do it with a professional trainer may be the best way. It will be their job to help understand and teach tangible action plans.

He starts by talking about his experience growing up Black in Mississippi and moves on to talk about systemic racism and how we don’t even realize how embedded it is in our world.

The voice of depression is speaking to me again, getting louder. Telling me I’m no good. But I stomp on it by chanting my words of affirmation out loud. “I can do this. I am good enough. I can do this. I am good enough.”

“What’s a massive stroke mean?” Justin asks, his eyes now wide open in shock.
“He had a series of blood clots in his brain,” Dad says gently. “It cut off oxygen to his brain. That’s what a stroke does.”

His voice still sounds like Grandpa but slower and weaker, with a slight slur.

In Grandpa’s room, I see my uncle Paul. He’s tall and lanky and looks like a male version of my mom.

Grandpa speaks again. It’s slightly garbled but Grandma understands him clearly.

The twinkle in my grandpa’s eyes now glimmers with the extra sheen of tears.

“I wanted to make some soup and rice for Grandpa anyway.”
“Homemade?” I ask dubiously.

Mom gives me an exasperated look.

When we were in New York, we found that our favorite restaurant had a soup-starter base that would replicate its famous soup at home. Even my mom couldn’t mess it up.

She packs the containers into a large insulated bag.

He stares at the camera and scratches his head bashfully.

The video then transitions to a montage of scenes with Grandma coming over to feed Grandpa, taking away his salty nuts or candy, bringing him his medicine and vitamins, laughing at him, nagging him.

On-screen me shows up and sniffs at it and then makes a revolted face.
“Grandpa, it smells like farts.”

We are sitting in the kitchen, plucking the tails off the bean sprouts Grandma is making for dinner. It’s a long and tedious process, but I don’t mind it because I can see Grandma needs this kind of mindless work right now.