Last fall, my younger sister and her family immigrated from Korea. I spent quite some time wondering where and how to help her begin her new life. People often say that an immigrant’s first steps in America—and even the shape of their future—depend on who meets them at the airport. But just because her older sister is a pastor’s wife doesn’t mean my sister, whose husband was a middle‑school math teacher, could suddenly walk the same path.

After much thought, I introduced her to the owner of a small gift shop I knew. Thankfully, she was offered a job right away.

My sister adjusted well to the unfamiliar language and the challenges of immigrant life. Watching her, I often felt as though I were looking back at myself twenty years earlier—sometimes feeling sorry for her, sometimes grateful for her courage.

One day, as English was slowly becoming more familiar to her ears, she tilted her head and asked, “Unni, why do people here always say something after they pay for their things?” “What do they say?” “…‘I’m crazy!’” “‘I’m crazy’? Why—what are they buying?”

She explained, “These days Pokémon cards are all the rage. Parents come in with their kids and buy handfuls at a time—one or two hundred dollars disappear just like that. We can’t keep them in stock! And it’s not just kids. Adults are obsessed with collecting Beanie Babies. And every time they pay, they say, ‘I’m crazy! I’m crazy!’”

We stared at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter. I remembered the Christmas when I had reluctantly bought my youngest son an expensive game system—hundreds of dollars on my credit card—and stormed out of the store muttering, “I’m crazy!”

Suddenly, as if waking from hypnosis, I saw myself clearly.

America is a land of hypnosis. Anything that hits the media becomes famous; worthless things appear valuable; childish things transform into sophistication. Businesses exploit this trance, numbing people’s minds completely. Parents feel they must provide everything their children desire in order to be considered good parents. Values and conscience struggle to survive before the power of materialism.

Even when the president’s ethics fall to the ground, people defend him, saying, “We didn’t elect a saint.” While heads of households in struggling nations wander the streets under the weight of IMF austerity, America enjoys unprecedented prosperity. Wars erupt across the world for economic gain; refugees in Kosovo and innocent civilians die by the thousands; and while my own child plots to massacre classmates in honor of Hitler’s birthday, hypnotized people remain endlessly busy.

We immigrants came here seeking a better life, yet we too fall under the same spell—working ourselves to death. Material things were meant to serve people, but now people are dragged around by material things. Even after acquiring them, all we can say is, “I’m crazy!”

We have houses but no homes, people but no neighbors, churches but few true believers, souls but bodies that merely survive. In such a time, I long for a genuine meeting between you and me.

Even in my own life, the poverty I feel amid abundance is painfully real. How much more must I possess before I can escape this emptiness and feel satisfied?

Ah—ah—spring has barely passed, and already green splendor bursts forth like fireworks. After the magnolia’s grand display, the rustling of new leaves rises everywhere. The wind brushing past my ears. The sweet chorus of birds. The fragrance of pink roses climbing the parsonage window. Cold spring water flowing beneath layers of rock. Dewdrops dancing in the morning light. Birds winging home at dusk. The moon and stars…

Truly, I am no ordinary rich person. And so once again, with a humbled voice, I whisper to the Lord, “O Lord, hold me fast, that I may not lose clear sight nor sound mind.”

In a world where even living with awareness is difficult, I suddenly feel ashamed of myself—muttering “I’m crazy!” as I stumble through life.

— Wanhee Yoon, May 11, 1999