What is a name? Is it self recognition, a familial tie, a memory perhaps feelings of love and comfort? I was born Misun but for a long time only my adopted family called me by that name. I think because of my sharp severence to my past the feelings associated with it was also disconnected. 

Like my American name, somehow over the years it was just something I was called. Like a dog who similarily knows that others call it by such a name but with no emotional context. I didn't know where the name came from.

With coronavirus came one of my most joyous and bittersweet moments. I found my birth family but my birth mother had already passed away. I only know her through photos and stories my birth family share with me. They tell me she gave me my name. So I try to find myself through her. But try as I may I don't see her in my face perhaps because I have no memories of her. I feel like both her and I are invisible.

One night I was watching a Korean show and a little girl yells out to her mom, "Gajima". My heart breaks because I know that word. I cry as if my heart is breaking in two. One half her and other me. I think I must have said those words a lot in my past. So I was inspired to paint the moment of separation. My yearning to hold onto something that also feels invisible. 

I submitted the piece to be a part of an exhibition in Seoul. To my surprise I receive an email from the organizer that someone wanted to buy my piece. Her name was also Misun. This chance connection through colors and lines on paper felt like a hand connecting us just like the image I painted. 

Suddenly that image has new meaning. Yes it is separation but now also different connection. Something invisible made visible by our heart ache, experiences and our name. Through this other Misun I feel connected and seen again. No longer invisible and a little less alone in the dark.

What is a name? Is it self recognition, a familial tie, a memory perhaps feelings of love and comfort? I was born Misun but for a long time only my adopted family called me by that name. I think because of my sharp severence to my past the feelings associated with it was also disconnected. 

Like my American name, somehow over the years it was just something I was called. Like a dog who similarily knows that others call it by such a name but with no emotional context. I didn't know where the name came from.

With coronavirus came one of my most joyous and bittersweet moments. I found my birth family but my birth mother had already passed away. I only know her through photos and stories my birth family share with me. They tell me she gave me my name. So I try to find myself through her. But try as I may I don't see her in my face perhaps because I have no memories of her. I feel like both her and I are invisible.

One night I was watching a Korean show and a little girl yells out to her mom, "Gajima". My heart breaks because I know that word. I cry as if my heart is breaking in two. One half her and other me. I think I must have said those words a lot in my past. So I was inspired to paint the moment of separation. My yearning to hold onto something that also feels invisible. 

I submitted the piece to be a part of an exhibition in Seoul. To my surprise I receive an email from the organizer that someone wanted to buy my piece. Her name was also Misun. This chance connection through colors and lines on paper felt like a hand connecting us just like the image I painted. 

Suddenly that image has new meaning. Yes it is separation but now also different connection. Something invisible made visible by our heart ache, experiences and our name. Through this other Misun I feel connected and seen again. No longer invisible and a little less alone in the dark.