A letter to Mongolia

Last week I wasn't prepared to share how I really felt about my coming to Mongolia, so I wrote a short letter today.  Before I begin, I would like to thank the pastor for giving me this opportunity.  And I would also like to apologize to him.  I lied and said that I would talk for 5 minutes because I was afraid that he would refuse if I said I would talk for 10.  But it's actually 10.  I'm sorry.


My favorite book is called "the Little Prince," written by a Frenchman with a long name - Antoine de Saint Exepury.  He once said, "if you give your all, you will receive more than what you gave."


I didn't really understand this quote until I came to Mongolia.


You see, I had to sell almost all my possessions to volunteer in Mongolia, and everyone thought I was crazy.  Even an elder questioned my decision and asked why I was going to Mongolia.  I replied I was going to Mongolia because I love Mongolia.  And he asked me again, "why do you love Mongolia?"  After much contemplation, I could not answer his question.  I said, "I don't know," and he looked at me like a fool and replied, "but that doesn't make any sense."  After a long time, I replied:


"Well, why do you love your children?  Is there a reason, or do you just love them?  Why do you love your mother?  Because she cooks for you?  Then would you not love her when she's sick?  You see, we love our moms for who they are, not what they do.  True love is unconditional.  I have no idea why I love Mongolia.  I just know that I do."


So I came to Mongolia, and experienced the most amazing 6 months of my life.  Before I left, many young adults came over to my apartment and we had a small party.  After they left, I held the little gift that small Nandia gave me, thought about my time in Mongolia, and I began to cry.  At that moment, I understood the Frenchman.  I had spent all my money and shared my knowledge with you, and what did I receive in return?  You guys taught me how to live.



You see, even though I had everything in America, my life was always so empty because I wasn't spending enough time with people whom I loved. In Mongolia, it was the opposite:  I didn't have much, but I was spending so much time with people whom I loved.


I may have had 50 inch TVs back at home, but every hour I spent on TV meant that I lost an opportunity to talk to my family and friends.  Every hour I spent on the internet meant that I was missing an opportunity to give someone a hug and share my life.  You see, I don't care about the type of TV I had 5 years ago, but I do remember how Enkhbolgang flooded my bathroom and the Mongolian lady downstairs yelled at us for 30 minutes at 1am.  It's these times that I cherish and remember, not my former possessions. 


Here, I found my purpose in life, which is to love and be loved.  I want to love God and be loved by Him.  I want to love you and be loved by you.  This is why Mongolia is so special to me.  I received so much more than what I gave, and I thank you for it.


Now, I would like to finish reading this letter by telling you things I hate about Mongolia.


Right now, I have a great life in Korea.  My job pays me well, I love working with kids, I have a lot of vacation... But after coming to Mongolia again, my life in Korea doesn't seem as good.


Another thing I hate about Mongolia is the sky.  I have been all over the world but Mongolia has the world's most beautiful sky.  Such beautiful clouds, and so many stars at night in the countryside.  Now when I go back to Korea and America, the sky will never look the same.


Our young adults, I hate you all.  Especially Tom Nandia, you are the worst.  You didn't know how to say a single word in English when I was here for six months, and now that I'm here for only two weeks, you suddenly know how to speak both English and Korean?  It seems like most young adults can speak either English or Korean now.  We could have had even more fun 5 years ago.  I hate you guys.


And Small Nandia, I hate you the most.  Every time I come to church, the first thing I do is look for you.  But come this Thursday, when I leave for Korea - no matter how hard I look, I will not be able to see you.  No matter how much I want to see you, I will not be able to.  This will bring me great sorrow, and all I will be able to do is to close my eyes and bite my lower lip to ease the pain.


Mongolians, I hate you for making me cry.  During the past 10 years, I did not cry once in Korea and America, but I cried all three times I was here.


But I do not regret the time I spent here, for I have the blue sky with me.  After I leave in August, fall will come, then winter.  And when the spring rolls by, and the sky in America is almost as blue as the Mongolian sky, I will be immersed in past memories.  I will close my eyes, and start to run with my arms spread out against the cool spring breeze, reminiscing how children chased after me during the most joyful time in my life.  With a thin smile, I won't be lonely, at least not until I open my eyes and the wind carries my memories away.  After a deep breath, I will silently utter, 'I wish you were here.'


Thank you all, for so many reasons.