Fidel Cruz

When I was a young boy growing up in a working-class town on the south side of Lorain, Ohio, in the shadows of the National Tube Company, I remember lying in the grass in our back yard on a late fall afternoon telling our family dog, “When I get old enough, I’m gonna go far away.” I wasn’t quite sure where I was going to go or even how I was going to get there, but I knew that I would go.

I came from a broken home, as did many of my friends, from parents who earned a modest income and did the best they could with what they had. I can recall as a student at Southview High, seeing my town literally falling apart. The steel mill was laying people off by the hundreds, unemployment was high and options were even fewer than before for most Latin@s. Many of us were not finishing school and even less attended institutions of higher learning. There almost seemed to be a thick economic pall that hung over the city, like it was stuck in a decade’s long stupor. This only reinforced my resolve to find something “different” and to go far away. My way out was simple — study. I enjoyed literature and history most; they opened a new world for me. Soon, all I could think about were the places I wanted to go and that, like a comfortable pair of gloves that had grown too small for me, I would have to leave behind everything that was secure and familiar.

“I suppose if you never leave home, you will never understand the broader perspective of life that transcends all menial things.”

My time at The Ohio State University only fueled my desire to experience more. I now had friends from Nigeria, Philippines, Japan, and Qatar and from most of the states across this country. I met Muslims, Jews and agnostics and all of these people and their cultures and ideas helped me realize that the world was just as large as I had expected. Literature became a trusted friend and I tried to learn what I could from it and tried to apply it to my life. However, like everything in life, there are hurdles and we have to do our best to overcome them. Sometimes we fail, but with each successful completion of a hurdle, there are opportunities. After about nine years in Columbus, I took a teaching job in Seoul, South Korea, teaching composition and to learn more about Asian culture. It was a chance to get a better perspective of myself.

I was immediately happy with my new life. I was new so everything was a learning experience; and did I ever learn! Looking at the Korean alphabet, Hangul, for the first time made me realize that the transition would not be easy. I had never seen characters like that before, but I had to try to become familiar with them. Over time, it got better. Not perfect, but better. Whenever I meet a Korean for the first time, they always have that same look on their face when I introduce myself. A look of shock, not because they like the way I speak, but my name. There is no real Korean equivalent for the sound of “f”. So, at first many Koreans will call me, “Pidel.” It is just something I’ve had to get use to.

I was fortunate that my skills in writing helped me to secure positions in research and development of English textbooks that gave me the opportunity to write more. The more I wrote the more valuable I became to my company. Through networking, I began doing freelance editing and revising for Korea’s oldest and largest travel magazine. I would write about hotels throughout the major cities in Asia, Beijing, Singapore, Shanghai, Cebu, Hanoi, Phuket. Now, as a content editor for a Korean English education on-line company, my life is more secure than ever before.

Seoul, a city of over 10 million people, seemed like an unlikely place for me to call home. I was originally supposed to go to Japan, however there was a position available in Korea sooner, and I thought that I could simply travel there when my assignment here was complete. But, just like all the best laid plans, things change, and I do believe that all things happen for a reason.

Being an expatriate is not easy. Language and customs do not come quickly; they take time. Koreans are generally very accommodating by nature. They are very proud people and family oriented, molded by thousands of years of Confucianism, which dictates how you speak and address your elders, equals and juniors. It is common that parents live with their children when they get older and meals are best had with family and friends. This reminded me very much of my Latino culture. At first, there were many times where people would stare at me. Many Koreans seem confused when I told them that I’m from the United States (mi-guk); they think Americans are tall, blond, and white. All the things I’m not. Now, I’m not sure if it’s just that I have been here so long and do not notice the stares of curiosity anymore or maybe, they’ve seen me so often, that I’m just a part of the changing scenery. However there are still those who have questions for me. As a result, my life here is two-fold, as a Mexican-American and as a writer, the former causing confusion in this very homogenous culture, the latter, the instrument from which I’m able to explain away that confusion. After almost five years I’m still explaining. Koreans do not really understand that I can claim two nationalities; I am an American of Mexican decent, shaped by the pull of two cultures, “Life in the Hyphen,” as Ilvan Stavans wrote.

Then there is the question of home. Some Latin@s say that I’ve forgotten what it is like to be Hispanic — that I’ve forgotten La Raza. However if they listen to what I write about, they will be able to understand that being Hispanic is not something you can simply forget or do away with. Have I really forgotten my culture when everything I do or write is a reflection of it? Just because you leave the nest does not mean that you forget the food that nurtured you. Just because your home is thousands of miles from where it used to be does not mean that you do not ache for it. I suppose if you never leave home, you will never understand the broader perspective of life that transcends all menial things.

Now as I make a brief reflection of my life, where I am from, where I am now and where I am going, I know that they have all been steps on a continuous journey; ever forward to someplace “different.” Confucius said that even a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. I am still taking those steps in life, taking chances and I hope that you do to. You never know where those steps will take you and all the knowledge that you will discover along the way. Who knows, maybe one day our paths will cross, and if that is the case, then I cannot wait until I see you. Annyeonghi kaseyo.