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I never thought a trip to Korea would make me cry. As a third-generation Korean-American, my connection to the motherland had always been filtered through my grandmother's stories and the occasional K-drama binge. But standing in Andong Hahoe Village, surrounded by 400-year-old houses still inhabited by descendants of the same clans, something shifted inside me.
It was during the Hahoe Byeolsin-gut Tal-nori, a traditional mask dance that has been performed in this village for centuries. As the dancers moved and the drums echoed off the surrounding mountains, I felt a connection to something far older and deeper than I had ever experienced.
The village elder, upon hearing my family name, led me to a centuries-old genealogy book. There, in faded ink, was a branch of our family tree that had been carefully maintained for over 15 generations. My grandmother's stories suddenly had physical proof.