Summer, around 1973

My little sister and I are in a train gliding across the peninsula, from Pusan to Inchun, for what seems like a millionth time. I have seen it all before, going back and forth between Mom and Dad for two long years, but the view through the window is always striking – blankets of green rice fields swaying with the wind, clear sky filled with shape shifting cumulus clouds, and villages outlined with straw roof huts. I see innocent naked kids splashing in a shallow creek, laughing and screaming. They stop and look at us, probably thinking how lucky we are to go somewhere they only see in books. I gaze back and imagine myself among them, squishing the cold wet sand between my toes, welcoming the sun as it peeks out of its hiding behind the clouds. I don’t feel alone. I am surrounded by friends. Mom calls my name. Dinner is ready. I feel belonged.
I open my eyes and I am back in the train. I look at my sister who is just six. I don’t know how much she knows or feels. I lost count how many times she and I went cross-country; probably 10 times or so, perhaps more. We are a couple of young kids with bagful of books and a few coins in our pockets. I like to believe that this is our last trip, but I know it isn’t. Mom keeps sending us away and Dad sends us right back. I just wish we could stay at just one place for a while, just one place.
A couple of giants sit across us. Their noses are huge and their faces look like Charles Bronson’s. They say something in English and smile at us. We cautiously smile back, a little afraid but curious. They hand us a couple of small foiled packages decorated with a strange looking peanut man. We hurriedly open the packages and devour the content, since we didn’t eat all day. They are the sweetest peanuts I have ever tasted. We bow to the giants and say thank you. They soothingly say something back in English and float away like angels. I will always remember them. When I grow up, I am going to give little packages of snacks to hungry kids all over.
My sister is sleeping, leaning against me. I wonder if she will ever remember these men. I wonder if she is dreaming of a home.