When Jay parked the car in front of an unfamiliar house, I was about to interrogate him about whose house this was before realizing my parents had moved to a new house. I never knew they had moved.

“Wait here, okay?”

Jay gets out of the car and scurries towards the door. As I waited, I looked at their new house. I remembered my parents’ old house being an average-sized two-story house that all middle-class American families had. This house was much bigger, perhaps three stories high. There were fancy exterior decorations like garden statues and a flowerbed that we never had in our previous house. The house looked well maintained, unlike our previous house.

My family was considered a bit well off given that my dad’s quite known in the Korean community here. He owns a kimchi factory and sells it across the southeastern areas of North America. The kimchi my family makes is very popular—I particularly like it because I grew up eating it. While I miss the taste of home, it’s hard to get re-accustomed after a few years. I wonder if my parents even think about me.

Jay came out holding the door for my mother who was waddling due to the thick cast on her leg. The sight of her walking saddened me. If I hadn’t left home, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten hurt. If I had taken care of her like the filial son I should be, perhaps she wouldn’t have to be injured.

What should I do in this situation since none of those possibilities ever came true? If I were to voice my concerns, would Mom accept them?

Jay opens the back door and Mom went in first and then Dad. Dad was the first to notice me in the backseat. I could taste the awkwardness in the air as Dad did his best to greet me.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Appa…”

It took a few seconds for Mom to realize I was in the car. She became surprised when she saw me. “Kwak Eugene!”*

“Hello, Umma…”

Being around them makes me meeker than usual. I don’t know what else to say other than a greeting. Three years flew by and I still haven’t reconciled with my parents. It’s awkward. It’s like I’m trapped in an enclosed space with no way out.

“Eugene, how are you doing?” Mom asks. “Is your art career doing well?”**

Hearing her ask that makes me surprised. Since when was she so curious about what I am doing? Who is this person? Is she my mother?

“It’s doing alright, I guess…”*** I muttered back. My words aren’t lies. I haven’t gotten much motivation to make art lately. It frustrates me, but I know that it takes time to create art—I have to be patient.

Jay starts the car and then speaks up about my accomplishments as an artist. As an artist, I have won several contests, a presence on social media, and even made videos on a video-sharing site with a decent amount of views. I’m not sure if my art career is successful, but I do feel accomplished with what I have so far.

“You make videos? Can I see them?”

“S-sure…” The worst feeling in the world is when someone has to share something with their parents—especially if one has a strained relationship with theirs like me. “I’ll tell you my account name later…”

But why is Mom being like this? She’s usually so critical of me. Has she changed her mindset from the time we spent apart? Why now? Why did she change her mindset now and not before? Why does this irritate me?

“Is your leg okay?”

“The cast is uncomfortable, but I have to deal with it. I want to get better, after all.”

“It’s also Eura’s big day. We have to persevere,” Dad smiles at Mom.

An irritating uneasiness keeps eating at me. Why are they acting as if nothing had happened all this time? Is this their way of apologizing? Have they moved on from their mistakes?

When I look out the window, the scenery moves along with the car. Night will soon turn into morning. The streetlights would soon turn off. The sky will change from black to blue. Cars will pass by. People will walk by. The cycle of the world moves on, but why is it that I cannot do the same? Will there ever be a day where I can move on from the past?