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Our Missing Half

Our Missing Half By Karla Kim alf is never satisfying. You don't ever want to look at a glass half empty or half full; you want it to be bubbling over. Full is meaningful. Half leaves you wanting. So when I met my half brother for the first time three years ago in the airport at Seoul, all I could focus on was his halfbuttoned shirt, half- twisted necklace, and the way he half hugged my mom as she tentatively placed her arms around his neck. "Well, this is weird," I thought to myself. Mom's hand remained gently encircling his porcelain neck as if she could never let go. "This is your sister!" she said, her eyes remaining locked on him. I tried to speak but the corners of my lips wouldn't budge. Instead I extended my hand. He responded with one of his half hugs. Automatically I stiffened, thinking, "Well this is weirder." I didn't even know this person. But that wasn't true. Because I did know about him. All my life I'd heard about the son from mom's first marriage, the son she was forced to leave after divorcing his dad. But when you hear so much about a http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & Culture University of Hawai'I Press

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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © University of Hawai'I Press
ISSN
1944-6500
Publisher site
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Abstract

By Karla Kim alf is never satisfying. You don't ever want to look at a glass half empty or half full; you want it to be bubbling over. Full is meaningful. Half leaves you wanting. So when I met my half brother for the first time three years ago in the airport at Seoul, all I could focus on was his halfbuttoned shirt, half- twisted necklace, and the way he half hugged my mom as she tentatively placed her arms around his neck. "Well, this is weird," I thought to myself. Mom's hand remained gently encircling his porcelain neck as if she could never let go. "This is your sister!" she said, her eyes remaining locked on him. I tried to speak but the corners of my lips wouldn't budge. Instead I extended my hand. He responded with one of his half hugs. Automatically I stiffened, thinking, "Well this is weirder." I didn't even know this person. But that wasn't true. Because I did know about him. All my life I'd heard about the son from mom's first marriage, the son she was forced to leave after divorcing his dad. But when you hear so much about a

Journal

Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & CultureUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: Apr 22, 2014

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