By: Caden Choi
My grand-aunt lives on the eastern coast of Jeju island, a mecca for tourists craving a taste of K-pop-infused island culture.
I too walk the crowds, admiring walls adorned with BTS posters at local cafes and museums. But as I spend time “off the grid” in my grand-aunt’s village, I am privy to another Korea, the one my ancestors called home. One morning, standing at the edge where volcanic rock kisses the sea, I capture this idyllic photo of a person diving, a leisurely venture into a venerable sea, I suppose. But from the locals I learn that beneath the calm lies the struggle of relentless labor and survival.
Photo Credit: Caden Choi
I faintly recall stories about the famous “haenyeo” sea-mermaids of Jeju, women who free dive for hours at a time in search of ocean treasures such as abalone and sea urchins. No scuba gear—the way they have been doing it for over a thousand years. The divers at Jeju may now be part of the last generation of traditional divers. And even though they have been deemed by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, many may never learn of them still.
I am intrigued by the women. They are foreign yet familiar and remind me of my own grandmother. Short perms, bald spots, high cheek bones, creases on foreheads. Hours later, the first diver emerges from her work. She wears a sun-scorched face⎯ her cheeks and nose seared from hours of work at sea. Stumbling to shore with her day’s catch, she tells me she has been diving for over half a century. It’s an arduous job and most young Korean women do not wish to follow this path.
She shares that for a very long time, there was no glory in her work. But she also tells me her relationship with the sea and her own perception of self have changed over time. Diving started off as obligation… survival. But now she has a choice. And her decision is to never retire from the sea.
Photo Credit: Caden Choi
More women emerge from the sea. One elder rests her tired body—slouched against jagged rock. I study her face. Through her mask, I can see the creases. They are not fine lines, but hard-earned channels etched by sea water. I transpose myself into her body and imagine myself submerging beneath the water with air-filled lungs. One…two…three… At thirty I exhale violently. In my mind it is impossible that these women should hold their breath for minutes at a time.
The elder later tells me it is as hard as it appears, and many women have lost their lives to the sea. But the tide always pulls them back in.
Photo Credit: Caden Choi
The next morning breathes excitement as I follow the village of grandmothers, not unlike my own, on their daily run. For me it is an adventure. To them it is a way of life. I wonder what would have happened if my family had stayed in Korea, if I were a daughter born to a previous generation. Could this have been my legacy? Ruminations aside, I am thankful to have connected to my roots, that I could experience this slice of living history and call it my own.
Photo Credit: Caden Choi