This series is a photographic process of my mom and grandparents making kimchi ( 김치) from scratch. An arduous process spanning days was something I had never witnessed before, despite eating my Halmoni’s (할머니 ) kimchi since childhood. I am reminiscent of the pungent smell of kimchi sitting in the “kimchi fridge” at my Halmoni and Haraboji’s house, and the warm feeling of kimchi jjigae (김치찌개) in my stomach with the hums of a K-drama playing in the background. 

Although I was inundated with the foods and customs of my Korean family, I have always left feeling detached from my identity. I don’t speak Korean conversationally and grew up in a predominantly white community. There are two sides of my race and culture I feel at constant odds with. There is anger and resentment that I wasn’t raised differently and sadness—I feel lost in my own identity. I have never been able to understand why my mother never taught me to speak Korean, aware I would never be able to truly know my grandparents. Food, however, serves as my connection to Koreanness and remains a way of communication. Food is love. Food is culture. Food is language.