An Interview with Keeil Sung
by Sarah S., 16
Home is the ultimate place of stillness most people come to after a day, month, or year conquering the challenge that is the intimidating world outside. An abode of true security beside loved ones in a personal space telling of habits, dynamics, and style. When most people think of home, they think of the people that make it the haven of warmth it should be, a parent, a child, or a sibling’s physical presence representative of precious holiday memories, shared echoes of laughter, aromas of food filled with history, and unwavering, unconditional love often taken for granted. What many people don’t realize, however, is that the experience of home is esoteric and unique to each.
My dad says, “You can’t take family closeness for granted. That is your home.”
I sit in the office of my apartment, which is supposed to be my dad’s, but it is mostly empty. His face lights up the screen of my Macbook; while I don’t talk to my dad often, Facetime is the most accustomed way we communicate. This is the first real conversation—beyond the obligatory “hey” through the lagging screen of my mom’s phone—we’ve had in months.
Contrary to the traditional family, my dad lives in the fast city of Jeongadong, South Korea, for work, while my mom and I have remained in our suburban Washington home for most of my life. It’s a strange way of living since my parents are still lovingly together, but somehow, my mom has assumed the title of “single mom.”
I think I speak for most people when I say that it’s hard to picture our family and our parents as individuals beyond their role as “mom” or “dad.” But that was never the case for my dad, my blueprint for free-spiritedness and courage, who has always lived his life as “Keeil.”
My dad has two homes, opposites in location, population, and purpose. He describes his apartment in Korea as his “second home” despite spending most of his days, nights, weeks, and months there. My dad is nonchalant and brave when describing his life in Korea. It’s a life I have never witnessed in reality. Still, I can tell by the undecorated bone-colored walls of his Facetime background that his testimony of loneliness is heartfelt and understated. My dad genuinely only “feels” home when he is with us. Our home in the United States is loud, filled with the sounds of my mom’s favorite K-Dramas, and messy, as my lack of organization skills doesn’t abode well mixed with my love for cooking.
My dad has no regrets; he says, “Regret is a choice, and I choose not to look back.” He proudly shares his endless, exciting stories of his journeys across Europe, Asia, and the Americas. A true individualist at heart, he could never conform to the model of a simple life. “Others were scared of a language barrier or being in a completely new place, but I just found it exciting.”
As a college sophomore, he left South Korea’s barriers for the first time and experienced the rush of newness. Grinning, he recounts leaving his host family in Houston to traipse around Las Vegas and LA. Only then did he realize how small stillness can be and how large the world is.
Keeil discovered the limitless bounds of Earth when he was just two years older than I am now. It completely changed his life and mine as our family immigrated to the US when I was three. It’s impossible to imagine my life if it wasn’t for his sweeping mindset to try simply. While he has two physical homes, his natural home seems to be purely staying true to his dreams.
But above all, my dad’s favorite topic is the future, “there’s no point in being hung up on the past; you must look forward.”
Now 51 years old, his perspective on hope is just as youthful and admirable as before.
I used to resent the unconventionality of my home. An undeniable part of myself believed that an empty seat at the dinner table and the lack of tradition during Christmas time meant that my home was inferior to the traditional home of my peers or the media. I failed to consider what my dad’s “second home”—a place void of loving people, laughter, or love—was like. I am grateful for every moment I spend in the joy of my home because, in a year or 10, I may not have the same place of stillness.
But even without a physical home setting, I know I can be at home in my heart. My dad taught me the most invaluable lesson: home isn’t a place but a feeling that encompasses all. As I plan for my future, going to college and becoming a young adult, I aspire to my dad’s model of courageousness, confidence, and determination; I know I can conquer anything.
In contemplating the concept of home, I’ve finally come to terms with my unconventional experiences. My dad’s inspiring take on nonconformity has taught me to embrace my unique perspective and given me the capacity to look beyond myself and consider the experiences of others. The universal truth of home, I’ve realized, is that it is a witness to imperfect but all-encompassing and sacred love. It’s easy to take home, a constant in most people’s lives, for granted, but to have a home is to have hope. Our homes characterize our sense of safety and belonging, integral to our core identity in profound ways that cannot be put into words.
I will forever be grateful for my home, in all its diverse forms, for being the grounding truth to my life and a gentle reminder that there is always something to be thankful for.
Sammamish, Washington
Bridge Ink 