Today wasn’t much different from any other day. We invited everyone and anyone, offering them a place to stay and serving home-cooked meals without much thought. Sometimes, people needed a place to stay. Living in NYC, we often had friends or friends of friends visiting the city. Other times, we simply invited people out of boredom. Whenever we met interesting individuals, we’d extend an invitation to our home.
As everyone left today, I found myself pondering how it all transpired and how I managed to host so many guests over the years. The idea struck me to start a host diary. Suddenly, it seemed like a fun project, something to revisit and reminisce about in the future. Perhaps it could even serve as a practical reference—I could plan different menus for subsequent gatherings. Maybe I’d uncover clues as to why I host so frequently.
When I mentioned writing the host diary and asked those around me about their meal-sharing experiences, I was surprised to learn that they remembered far more meals than I did myself. As I chronicled my hosting experiences over the past 40 years, I realized it was also the story of how I lived. Writing became incredibly enjoyable; in just two months, I filled over 200 pages with 70 essays. It felt as though I was reconnecting with an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. It’s the story of how my husband and I, who met in our early 20s, shared our lives through hosting.
If our ordinary life feels somewhat special, it must be because the world has changed. My husband, who left his country in 1973 as a 7th grader, still holds onto sentiments from Korea in the 70s. Similarly, leaving Korea in 1980, I haven’t changed much either. Growing up, we watched our parents take in people who needed a place to stay and share whatever they had; we still long for those days.
We had four children without giving much thought to how we’d raise them. To today’s generations, it might sound almost irresponsible. But we also don’t understand when people say they cannot afford children. My mom once told me, “When I was busy raising six children and had to support them financially, I thought I would be rich as soon as they were out of my house. But it wasn’t true. Money stopped coming in…” As a mother of four, I believe what my mom says is true. I also believe that children are provided by God. When we were all poor, we knew how to share and help each other in times of need. I don’t want to start a sentence with “When I was young..” too often, but I can’t help but miss those days when people truly cared for one another.
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