I Wish He Could See Himself Through My Eyes
by Sunny Suaya
It's 4:00 pm on a Wednesday afternoon.
I sit in a large classroom, 500 Hall of Languages, waiting for my writing course to convene. My peers are anxiously checking their cell phones trying to fill in the void. The awkward silence among us speaks louder than any language can do. Each one of us is thinking about what the next moment may bring. Each siphoning through different worries, each feeling a different emotion.
It was a bit bizarre preparing to interview someone you know little to nothing about.
Yet, as a Broadcast and Digital Journalism major, interviews are something that bring me joy.
I seek the adrenaline rush, the jitters, the anticipation.
I seek the thrill one gets right before hitting “record” and the conversation begins.
There's something incredibly special about telling one's story—an art in and of itself. Why? Why would narrating someone's story be so inspiring? Perhaps because one learns so much about herself.
Not knowing what to expect, I pull my chair over to place it next to a tall man with broad shoulders, wearing a Syracuse sweatshirt. At that time this is all I knew about him:
1. He's from South Korea,
2. He has been working on poetry translation for a while, and
3. He came with his wife to the meeting.
As he stands up to introduce himself, he seems nice, I say to myself. Maybe because he's smiling sincerely or maybe because he keeps turning around to check on his wife; but for whatever reason I can tell from the start, he's a caring man.
We each sit down and right off the bat I can tell he's a bit nervous.
I try to put myself in his shoes. I think to myself “This must be incredibly intimidating.” I mean, really, I couldn’t imagine being in his place right now.
“Okay, let's start,” I say. As I struggle to pronounce his name, I feel a bit awkward in my American accent. Yet, Yeohyun doesn’t mind. Rather, he looks at me with compassion and patiently guides me. He encourages me with my pronunciation and slowly but surely, I’m able to pronounce it correctly.
“Yo-hun-yun!”
The ice is broken. We are now a little more comfortable with each other and laughing like old friends.
Yeohyun Yoon was born in 1983 in Daegu, South Korea. At that time, tensions with North Korea were high. The Rangoon bombing and an assassination attempt against President Chun Doo-hwan took place. National sentiments and nostalgia for the bygone past were widespread. The memories of the Korean War lingered in many ways. In the 1980s schools in South Korea prioritized teaching national history. He has traveled far from his place of origin.
Currently, Yeohyun is enrolled in the Executive Masters International Relations program at Syracuse University and spends his evenings improving his English language skills together with his wife at the Onondaga Community College (OCC). He was passionate about translating between Korean and English, in particular, making Korean poetry available in English. I was intrigued and wanted to help.
The poem we focused on was “Sky, Wind, Star and Poetry” written by Dong-ju Yoon during the Korean Independence movement against the Japanese Empire. As Yeohyun says “Yoon expresses the agony of a person during the colonial era in beautiful poetry and is considered a resistance poet who gave a ray of hope to the Korean people. This is why I chose this poem.” I learned that the power and impact of Yoon’s poetry did not stop with the colonial era. Rather, he continued to be a pillar of hope and inspiration for the people. When Yeohyun was growing up in South Korea, people used this poem to inspire faith which continues to this day. Dong-ju Yoon’s work is still very popular. It is still a required reading in Korean high schools. A very popular movie, Dongju: The Portrait of a Poet by the film director Lee Joon-ik was recently released in Korea about Yoon’s life and writing.
It was intriguing to learn that poetry wasn’t very common in Korean culture, but the work of Dong-ju was. Yeohyun remarked how this poem was relatable to most Koreans even if they did not experience the colonial era. The more Yeohyun expressed how important this poem was to him and those around him, the more I wondered if its English translation would matter to any American. Initially, Yeohyun didn’t seem to think so. He has observed too many differences between Americans and Koreans. He said that these differences were key to note because he couldn’t imagine an American relating to the poem in the ways a Korean would. He didn’t think Americans would be able to understand its meaning and significance because even though many Koreans didn’t grow up during the colonial era and still relate to the poem, there is a shared set of customs, characteristics, and culture that allowed Dong-ju’s poetry to be relatable.
Still, upon a more careful look, we may be able to find a meaning in this poem that speaks to us. Yeohyun was worried that his translation wouldn’t capture the “double meaning” that the words may hold. I assured him, all poetry is up for interpretation and his translation most definitely held a strong double meaning in my eyes:
Both Yeohyun Yoon’s translation and Dong-ju Yoon’s poem sound beautiful when read aloud. I don’t understand the Korean version but as I listened to Yeohyun read it out loud, I could feel the music and the emotion tied to it. For Yeohyun, this poem speaks to the nostalgia for the victims of the War; for me, it could as well express a young woman’s sadness for a lost friend.
If you wonder about the coincidence of the same last names, you are not alone! Indeed, my new friend, Yeohyun Yoon, and the famous Korean poet who inspired so many have the same last name. Yeohyun said this added to his love for Dong-ju’s poetry because everyone in Korea recognizes his last name due to Dong-ju’s talent.
As our interview went on, it felt as if we had known each other for years. Although Yeohyun wasn’t confident in his ability to speak English, he was incredibly articulate. I learned that Yeohyun went to Sungkyunkwan University in Seoul and worked for the Ministry of National Defense in charge of North Korean affairs. After learning how important of a role Yeohyun had in Korea, it upset me even more that he felt “inadequate sometimes.” Yeohyun gave up an important career to come to the U.S. and expand on his education. To me, that seems pretty smart!
Yet, Yeohyun said he felt discouraged in his smarts when he tried to get employment in English or speak with other Americans.
***
I wish Yeohyun could see himself through my eyes because the way he spoke about the poem that gave him hope, was the way I thought of him. Yeohyun Yoon inspired me greatly. As I started to piece aspects of this story together, I wondered if I felt so connected to Yeohyun because we were so alike.
Yeohyun moved to Syracuse at the same time I did, at the beginning of the Fall 2023 semester. He had a longing to grow intellectually –just like me. He said, “After exploring various academic fields in graduate school, I felt my learning was lacking. I want to receive a more rounded education and do better.” I can relate greatly to this! I am always trying to find ways to improve myself to do better in my multitudes of skills.
However, after learning how important family values and cultural identity were in South Korea, I found it surprising, Yeohyun Yoon was an only child.
Why did this stick out to me?
Well, because I too am an only child.
This aspect got me thinking about my parents and how they seemed to have a similar outlook as Yeohyun’s. He explained, “My parents were passionate about educating me. When I was young, they supported my education both materially and spiritually. They greatly supported me when I came to the U.S. to study.” This is quite intriguing because my parents were the same way when it came to education. When it was time for me to go to college, I wanted to attend Syracuse University to excel at the Newhouse School of Education. And, they too were extremely supportive.
This brought to my mind somebody else’s immigration journey to the U.S. –my father’s!
My dad, David Suaya, moved to America from Argentina when he was fifteen. He did so because his family believed it would be beneficial for their family business to move to the U.S. Although my dad had learned English in Argentina, his native language was not English. He was placed in English learning classes where he would learn all elementary school material in a different room at a slower pace. He was separated from others struggling to make friends. He felt lonely, he felt like he wasn’t good enough. Like Yeohyun, he felt “inadequate” in his new environment.
I bring this up because growing up I always saw my father as the smartest person I had ever met. He is very articulate, well-founded, and can figure out almost anything. Now, my father is pretty confident in his intelligence as he has had some accomplishments to support this confidence. Yet, there was a point in time when my dad didn’t believe in himself; there was a point in time when my dad thought he too was “inadequate.”
In retrospect, many can tell that my father was never inadequate. His intelligence never went away because of a language barrier, and it didn’t just appear after he overcame this barrier. Rather, he learned how to express his intelligence in a new place and a new language.
***
Creative non-fiction is an art. The writer of creative non-fiction needs to listen and hear, and ultimately see aspects of one's story in a way that the person doesn’t see themselves. Yeohyun isn’t “inadequate.” That is somebody else’s voice in him. I can see Yeohyun's intelligence and I’m sure so can you. He is like me; he is like my father. No matter where and in what language.
As we came to the end of our conversation, Yeohyun and I felt a connection on a renewed level. We both were excited to have found a new friend and later shared a meal together. Yeohyun and I have kept in touch over email, conversing about our midterms and day-to-day events. Months after the initial connection, I asked Yeohyun to reflect on our interview and share his thoughts. He said, “The interview which I had with you? It was a really fantastic experience for me! In Korean language, there's a concept that means “connections” or “relationships” (인연 [in-yeon] in Korean) that has a cultural significance. I can see that “connection” and “relationship” between us even though we come from different countries, ethnicities, and languages.”
This was very touching to me –it confirmed that Yeohyun also felt the connection regardless of the geographies, cultures, and languages that supposedly separated us. So, as a friend and connected fellow, if there was one thing, I wish Yeohyun Yoon remembered would be this:
“Yeohyun, you are a very wise individual. You are so ahead of where most people would be in your place. I am very lucky to have a caring and thoughtful friend like you now.
You said, you sometimes feel “inadequate,” If only you could see how smart I thought you were during our conversation! I was tremendously impressed by your bilingualism, courage, and your accomplishments back in Korea. I mean working for the Ministry of National Defense! That's a big deal!
Nevertheless, I hope as you continue to tackle your educational journey in the U.S., you gain the confidence to see what I see in you!
I am very lucky to have a connection ( 인연 ) with you.
I know you will do amazing things, so keep it up!
Sincerely,
Your new friend,
Sunny