2000's

The year was 2003. An immigrant, Korean by birth, stood before the looming brick building. She had come in pursuit of the American Dream—an aphorism, she now realized.

Ahead, the neon-lit “H” flickered, scattering red light across the cracked asphalt parking lot. She took a step toward H-Mart, hesitated, deliberating whether to retreat, defeated.

She turned to leave, crinkling her nose. The smell of roasted sweet potatoes lingered—just right. Not like the American ones, masked with spices.

She immediately turned back.

“Ajusshi!” she called, heels clicking like Cuckoo Rice Cookers™ in Jeju.

The sweet potato stand was built from a rusted wheelbarrow, topped with an industrial barrel. Five bolts lined the underside. Pulling one revealed perfectly steamed spuds. The parts rattled as if alive.

A middle-aged man, short, Asian, wearing a flannel bucket hat and oversized jacket, greeted her between bites of sweet potato. She pointed and asked in broken English:

“Howe much?”

“Three for one,” he replied.

“Arright.”

She dug into her bag, handed over some

coins. He examined them and handed them back.

“No, no take outside money.”

She looked down. A 500-won coin.

“Oh,” she muttered.

…

It’s last week.

I walk into the concrete lot. Refurbished, but the cracks remain. Asian aunties park their BMWs and Fias carelessly. Children clutch their mothers’ hands, rushing to the vendor.

If you listen closely, their feet pitter-patter like yangbaechu spinning dry—something I once tried, five years old, spinning with all my might.

The same vendor—Jeong—is older. His balding head and dark spots resemble a Jackson Pollock painting. His yellowed teeth grind like worn balusters.

Children return to their mothers, asking for sweet potatoes. The moms keep their distance, but kids gather near. They stare at the rattling oven, then dig into their pockets.

“Three for one,” Jeong says.

One kid, Asian, pulls out a bubblegum wrapper, then offers coins and bills. Jeong examines them—and returns a 100-yen coin.

“No take outside money.”

The jumping stops.

Another child hands him six dollars and speaks Korean. Jeong nods, opens the drum, and hands over two perfect sweet potatoes.