Issue 29: "Homecoming" by Emeline Lee

Immigrant Hustle: A Monthly Mini Memoir

Hey KP!

This week, Emeline shares an experience with her Halabeoji that helps us bridge some of the gaps that come with a life disrupted by war, avoidance and migration. As we all have witnessed and waged worry about the multiple wars and conflicts around the world, it’s made me connect to and contemplate how the Korean War indelibly changed the DNA, nervous systems and bodily responses of the entire Korean diaspora. Closer to home, Komerican immigrants (and their offspring) in the U.S. who physically left places of trauma and their motherland for a fresh start; also left a lot of love, loved ones and potential healing behind. Thank you Emeline, for reminding us through your memoir that sometimes the impacts of war are not visible to us or even something we feel connected to day-to-day, yet they are a part of our individual and collective experiences that deserve attention and healing.

Homecoming by Emeline Lee

Emeline Lee is an author of children's literature. Her debut picture book, Bonnie's Rocket, illustrated by Alina Chau and published by Lee & Low, is a STEM-friendly story set during Apollo 11. Her next picture book, Gwei, The Hungry Ghost, will be illustrated by Basia Tran and published by Kokila, an imprint of Penguin Young Readers, and is slated for publication in spring 2026. She studied English literature and environmental sustainability at Columbia University. In addition to books of all kinds, her favorite things include nature hikes, hot pot, and family time. Find her on social media at @EmelineLeeBooks and online at emelinelee.com.

Trigger warning: war and death. This poem and accompanying essay contains recollections of the Korean War and North Korea.

We float on satellite eyes
gazing down at a fractured land 

familiar and foreign

a place we can only venture in your memory
or through a distant lens above the clouds

the signs of buildings disappear
into chunks of green and gray,
roads carve through mountains 
like rivers and streams

this is only homecoming we’ll ever know

never to taste the air 
or smell the trees 
growing over the burial mounds 
of our ancestors 

on a beautiful, narrow peninsula,
a narrow escape,
floating bodies in the water,
floating stars up above

the birds were blessed to have wings
but the tigers were not spared
grounded, wild, and gone

when borders became a matter of latitude,
wrapping around the globe like a noose

a few degrees
made a world of a difference

an armistice is not quite peace,
but a close enough parallel
to some who live where latitude 
means leeway
instead of limits

I made you a vow never to return, 
so we visit together 
from afar.

As the child and grandchild of immigrants, I’ve always been curious to learn more about the history, lands, and traditions of my ancestors. Growing up, I often felt disconnected from my Korean heritage, unable to speak the language and never having visited the motherland.

Both of my maternal grandparents escaped from their homes in North Korea during the Korean War. Their childhood includes harrowing tales of fleeing from bombs and soldiers, fighting starvation, and losing family members. In the past, I hesitated to ask my grandparents about their homeland, worried my questions might elicit painful memories and force them to relive past traumas. 

When I finally worked up the courage to broach the subject with my Halabeoji a few years ago, I found that I had little reason to fear. He lit up with excitement, running to his iPad and opening Google Maps (he always surprised me with his tech savvy). The visuals eased the tension of the language barrier between us as he pointed to where he grew up in Pyongyang. 

“This bridge is new,” he said. I realized this wasn’t the first time he had searched for his home like this. He knew exactly where to find it on the map. 

That afternoon, the two of us bent over the screen, zooming all over North Korea. This was his way of showing me where we came from. He walked me through the train route that he would take to school. The stops had remained exactly the same over his lifetime because, in many ways, North Korea was frozen in time. For a moment, my grandfather transformed into a little boy showing off his favorite spots. 

“I caught tiny crabs in this river.”

“I climbed an empty water tower to look over these fields.”

“This was where my grandfather built a rice mill.”

The map drew out memories attached to the places he had loved. I was surprised he had so many bright, happy recollections of a childhood marked by occupation and war. Even in the middle of darkness, he had found moments of light. 

But, as expected, the map also drew out places of pain. He pointed to rivers where family members had drowned while fleeing soldiers. He gestured over towns that had been razed to the ground with bombs during the war. Google Maps showed the Military Demarcation Line as a simple black line snaking over the 38th parallel. It appeared like any other border between two countries, unable to convey the story of bloodshed behind its existence and how it tore a nation into two. Many borders on the map have been drawn through similarly painful and often forgotten histories. 

My Halabeoji’s virtual homecoming was bittersweet to witness. He showed me that despite the hardships he had suffered, he still had many happy memories rooted in the land he once called home. “Satellite eyes” gave him the appropriate distance and assurance of safety to return and reminisce about his childhood. I discovered that a homecoming didn’t have to be a physical journey in order to be an authentic one. Together, we traveled back through time and space to a place made real by new technology and old memories. 

H Mart Happiness: What’s your favorite product and why?

“I’d have to say kimchi, because it goes with almost anything, and I love reusing those iconic glass jars.” - Emeline L.

What’s your favorite H Mart product? Share the love and leave a comment!