When the cold wind blows, reminds me of the
past.
A long time ago, I lived on the second floor of
a seven-story building on Grand Street in Chinatown, Manhattan. In the morning, I
waked up to the louder chatter of Chinese women in the old cramped elevator
that went up to the sewing factory upstairs. The sound that went through the
second floor is louder and as it goes upstairs, disappeared as if are submerged
in the water.
In the evening, the chatter of Chinese women
was getting louder again, and when the elevator passed our floors, it's as if a
storm was passing by. Then I went out to Chinatown to buy some food for dinner.
Before I moved to Chinatown, my husband and I
lived apart from each other even if we had the wedding oath in the city hall.
My husband lived with his roommate in Manhattan, and I lived with my roommate
in Queens. With no decent job and no place to live together, our artist couple
had no choice but to live apart as we had previously lived.
About six months later, my husband's roommate
suggested that the three live together at the Grand Street. My roommate used
one side of a large space and our couple used the other. Each had a bedroom
above their space. In the corner of our bedroom there were drum and percussion
instruments left by the people who lived before. Lying next to the instruments
was like an acrobat resting in the tent.
There was no heating system in winter. It was
as cold as a Siberian field. The building was old, so there were lots of rats
and bugs. I used to go to sleep scratching all over my body. My husband used to
lay white paper and knock on the ceiling to catch them by dropping bugs.
It was hard for us to live on. By the way,
there were many friends who came to our studio. They slept and played on a big
gray sofa that was in the middle of the studio, They came on Friday and didn't
go back their home until Sunday evening. Our studio was called "Grand
Street church." My husband was called
'Pastor Lee' and my roommate was called
'Elder Hwang.'
At the end of the year, they lived in my house
for a few days and commuted to work. Elder Hwang brought on to lots of bulgogi
left over from the year-end party of the alumni association. We were all happy
with bulgogi and kimchi. I didn't know it was hard for my friends to come in
and out frequently.
The owner of the building had a bean sprout
factory in the dark basement. When I go to the basement to pay rent once a
month, I cannot see him because the place was dark. "Is not it dark?"
"Bean sprouts grow up quickly in the dark," he said. When I gave him
rent, he wrapped a handful of bean sprouts for me.
After paying the rent, there is no money. We
ate the bean sprouts soup, the seasoned bean sprouts, and the bean sprouts rice
for several days. Then it was difficult to pay the rent that goes up every
year, so we had to leave Grand Street.
Our couple crossed the Williamsburg Bridge to the Green Point, Brooklyn
and our roommate left for Seoul Korea.
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