When Strangers Destroyed Our Korean Lunch
To them it may have been smelly and weird. To us, it was a taste of home.
Journalist, Author & Syndicated Columnist
To them it may have been smelly and weird. To us, it was a taste of home.
Nelufar Hedayat, 28, was just 6 years old when she and her family fled the Taliban and war-torn Afghanistan. Her experiences as a refugee and immigrant helped shape her desire to make a difference. While working for the BBC, she interviewed Malala Yousafzai for the TV documentary, “Shot for Going to School.” Hedayat’s current project is the Fusion docuseries “The Traffickers,” where she delves into subjects such as the illegal selling of human organs and sex.
The main characters in K-dramas often demonstrate their love by attaching personalized padlocks on a fence on the tower’s observation deck. Tens of thousands of “love locks” can be found here. It’s a trend well established in cities such as Paris and Prague, but the tradition has taken on an added dimension in Seoul. While couples still attach locks to declare their love for one another, the fence has become a popular spot for adoptees and their adoptive parents to leave padlocks honoring the day they became a family.
“Each language has its own advantages,” says Dino Lingo founder Serdar Acar. “I realized that being able to communicate in (more) languages opened new doors and opportunities for me. But when it comes to traveling, I think English speakers are a bit luckier, because you can find an English-speaking person most of the time, especially if you stick to the tourist routes. That is why most people in other countries learn English.”
I was embarrassed, and I wanted to tell her that I have spent almost all of my life in the United States, and that I have been fighting an uphill battle to retain my Korean language skills. That I was encouraged by my parents and teachers to speak only English, so that I could assimilate better. But that once I became fluent in English, my Korean all but disappeared.