Avaliable Excerpts are: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

I once read that every single pearl evolves from a central core. This core is simply an irritant -- a fragment of a shell or fishbone, a grain of sand. To protect itself from this irritant, the oyster secretes multiple layers of nacre, which form a beautiful pearl.  I think of this process of my grandmother, whose name is White Pearl. She experienced some very difficult events in her life that I will share with you in this book. Despite it all, she became one of the rarest and most beautiful of pearls. 

Chapter 1: An Innocent Trip to a Local Bakery

"The Chinese use two brush strokes to write the word 'crisis.' One brush stroke stands for 'danger'; the other for 'opportunity.' In a crisis, be aware of the danger - but recognize the opportunity."
- John F. Kennedy

It all started with a loaf of bread that didn't even exist. It was early afternoon in Leningrad, a freezing winter day in December 1991 that felt more like night. Everything was dark gray - the sky, the buildings, the people's moods. Another gloomy day, I thought, pulling my scarf to cover my chin and nose from the cold wind, which was blowing into my face so hard that I could not keep my eyes open. I was standing in line at the bakery for the third day in a row. The previous two days, after I had waited for hours, the owner had reluctantly ducked outside the door to announce, "There won't be a bread delivery. You might as well go home." The bakery was the size of the kitchen in my apartment, with one counter for the cash register and bare shelves that should have been filled with baked goods. By the register, below the sign for sahar (sugar), sat a few lonely brown bags empty of sugar. The scarcity of bread, potatoes, and vodka was maddening. Milk, cheese, meat, and sugar became difficult to find in stores. Soaps and toothpastes, shampoos and razor blades vanished from store shelves.

To be a resident of Leningrad, you had to have a propiska (a record of place of residence). The propiska system was similar to the czarist internal passport system used to control population movements in the Russian Empire. If I wanted to move to Moscow, I needed a propiska in Moscow to be a legal resident there. Yet becoming a legal resident is still not easy, even in Russia in today's free market, when people cannot only buy apartments but can also build homes and castles.

I read that the Bolsheviks abolished the passport system right after the October Revolution, but Joseph Stalin reinstated it in December 1932. When I still lived in Russia, you needed a valid propiska stamp in your passport in order to get a job, get married, or receive medical treatments, which were free for all citizens. This may be different now, but back then, if you didn't have your propiska, you didn't receive ration coupons, either. Each month, my ration coupons allowed me to buy two bars of soap, a pound of butter, a pound of any kind of meat, and one box of detergent. I didn't dare to lose them. I hand washed all of my clothes because we didn't have a washing machine. I washed my clothes, towels, and bedding and hung them to dry on the balcony.

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Chapter 2: My Russia-Korean Babushka

"People don't alter history any more than birds alter the sky; they just make brief patterns in it."
- Terry Pratchett

My paternal grandmother, Bya-ok ("White Pearl"), was born on January 8, 1915, and christened with the Russian name, Olga. As a young woman, her hair was jet black, her eyes radiated pure love, her skin was the color of a lustrous white pearl, her lips were full, her smile was irresistible, her voice was soft and pleasant, and her touch was gentle. Her laugh was inspiring and contagious. Her children called her "Mama" and her husband, my grandfather Alexander, called her simply "Olya." To me, she was always my loving babushka.

In the cold autumn of 1900, after a poor harvest and famine in Korea, White Pearl's parents, Elena Hvan and Tyan Sen Guk, had come to Russia to pursue a better life. They arrived at Sakhalin Island in the far eastern part of Russia. White Pearl told me, "My parents were country people, affable and down-to-earth, and of course hard working. They were poor like everyone else, but poverty back then was not depressing as it is today. My parents had neither electricity nor plumbing, neither bath nor shower. In order to stay clean, they melted snow in the winter to wash themselves. In the summer, they swam in rivers or lakes. They used kerosene lamps and were considered rich by their neighbors."

My great-grandparents were the first generation of what we call Koryo-Saram, which means "Korean person," the people who came to Russia during the Joseon (also Choson or Chosun) Dynasty. Chosun is an ancient name for Korea that means "Land of the Morning Calm." As early as 1861, thirteen Korean families applied for permission to settle in Russia. Most of them were very poor peasants who faced death, hunger, and freezing winters. The weather was severe, not unlike it is today. They kept their Korean lifestyle, cooked Korean food, spoke the Korean language, and wore traditional Korean clothes.

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Chapter 3: Anxiety at the Airport

"Little things are indeed little, but to be faithful in little things is a great thing."
- Mother Teresa

The customs officer looked at me. "Get your passport and ticket ready."
I looked nervously around at the other travelers. What if this is a scam? What if Vladimir sold me a fake ticket? One woman noticed that I was looking at her ticket. She cautiously put it away in her purse. My ticket showed my name, flight number, and the price it had cost Vladimir. "Everything looks right to me," I said to myself. Wait a minute! I looked again. My name was handwritten in blue ink on the ticket. Would this be a problem?
"Where are you going?" the customs officer asked me.
"New York," I replied, hoping to find out that I did have a "real" ticket. I looked back. My cousin was still waiting to see if I could get through the airport customs service.
My thoughts were racing like a fast-moving river. No, they were chattering and jumping like a monkey. I wanted them to stop and sit still. Then I turned to the same customs officer, who seemed to be friendly. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just got the ticket. Can you tell me if it's real?" I was about to burst into tears.
"What do you mean by 'real'?"
"Well," I said quietly, "I bought this ticket from my friend Vladimir on the street. Can you please help me to get through the line?" I pleaded.
"Is Vladimir a pharzovshik [illegal trader on a black market]?" the man asked me.
"We were classmates."
"What else did you buy on the street?" He shook his head. "This generation is lost. Let me see your ticket, Kim. How many bags are you checking in?"
"This is all I have," I answered. I was embarrassed that I only had a backpack.
He pointed to a counter. "Go and fill out the customs form," he said. "And don't lose your head."
I rushed over to the counter, my pen poised to fill out the required information. I looked more closely at the form. Suddenly I saw that all of the questions were in English. My stomach sank. I groaned in dismay.
The woman next to me must have sensed my distress. "What's wrong?" she asked in a kind voice.
"I can't figure out the form," I confessed.
And serendipity, good fortune, whatever you want to call it, once again came to my aid. This kind woman and her husband, from the Baltic States, helped me fill out the form. She spoke fluent English and, judging by her luggage and mink coat, also had good taste. They had leather suitcases unlike any I had ever seen.
She picked up my form. "What is the address of where you will be staying?" she asked.
I looked at her blankly and shook my head. "I have no idea."
She looked at me as if I were crazy. Perhaps I was.
I had one dollar in my pocket.

To Purchase "White Pearl and I" please [click here]