My grandmother was born in Japan as an ethnic Korean in 1928. After 1945, when World War 2 was over, she was 19 years old and pregnant with my mother and afraid there was going to be retaliation against Koreans. She fled Japan to Korea with my grandfather only speaking Japanese and not knowing a thing about Korean culture. She never went to school but learned to speak Korean, as well as cook by looking over people's shoulders. My grandfather was killed in a guerilla outfit fighting the communist invasion of Korea. My grandmother grieved for him by wearing white for years during the Korean War and never leaving the house. The Christian in her prayed to Jesus, but the Buddhist presented food for Grandfather on his anniversary and we spoke to him before we ate. Our family immigrated to America, and she followed soon after. As an 8 year old I remember suddenly living with this strange woman in our house in Texas who would chase me around to hit me for doing something wrong. She never spoke a word of English, as Japanese was her first language and Korean her second, and 99% of what she said to me I had no clue what she meant. Her cultural cross pollination made her the best sushi chef in Houston working in the best kitchens. There was always the Old World in her. I remember one day absent mindedly staring into curtains and she closed them. She loved getting money everytime I saw her. Hundred dollar bills. It was expensive to see Grandma but it was awesome. It always pleased me that for the last twenty years of her life I bought her a house she could call her own (thank you America) where she fattened her pet poodles to morbid levels of obesity (thank you Texas). Most importantly, she met her great grandaughter Lola. What a journey. She was 94. RIP.