Our Memories Are Our Own

by CHRISTINA PAE • SEPTEMBER 2026

“Memory takes a lot of poetic license… for memory is seated predominantly in the heart.”  
— Tennessee Williams

My father passed away this past Spring at the age of 93. During his long life, he accomplished many things, not the least of which were surviving Japanese occupation and the Korean War in Seoul, moving to the US, building a 48-year career as a professor and being a loving son, sibling, husband, father and grandfather. I feel very fortunate to have spent some hours with him recording his oral history, and I could write many pages about the stories he told me.

At his funeral, several people stepped up to the mic to talk about him. Everyone shared their memories of the same person, but each experienced him in such different ways. I talked about my dad’s love of fun and how he always wanted the very best things in life. His brother Si, who is 16 years younger than my father, spoke about how my father changed the trajectory of Si’s life by sponsoring him to immigrate to the US. My brother spoke about how my father taught him an entire semester of Physics in one all-nighter over a pay phone. My sister spoke about how much dad enjoyed hearing about her scuba diving adventures. And my niece talked about how her grandfather was always so supportive and never ever made her feel guilty for not calling more often.

The remembrances were so distinct, and they expressed how multidimensional my father was. He was different things to each of us, and the memories we carry of him describe the same man who touched our lives in unique ways. Hearing everyone’s experiences made me love and admire my father even more. And it reminded me that our own story is always enhanced by the stories others tell about us.