All I have of my mother are photos with holes in them – the ones my father cut out of where her face was. And a fleeting memory, that of a fallen woma
All I have of my mother are photos with holes in them – the ones my father cut out of where her face was. And a fleeting memory, that of a fallen woman fleeing her country, South Korea, for the United States, leaving her two children behind. After thirty years of amnesia, my wandering gaze will take us on a journey across three continents and my complex family’s relationships, ...
