My husband who claims to eat Korean food

Which road should I take to find my husband and child? I was wandering down a dusty, hazy path.

Guests from Seoul had come to visit. My husband, one woman, and three other men were sitting around a table, waiting for food. But no food came—only endless talking around an empty table. Suddenly, my husband stood up angrily and said, “Come outside for a second,” and stormed out. I followed him with my child, but I lost the child—and I couldn’t find my husband either. I wandered through the dust until I finally woke up from the dream.

If I ever got divorced just because I didn’t want to cook anymore, wouldn’t my life end up just like that dream?

They say even rivers and mountains change in ten years. I’ve been married for 25, but there’s still one thing that hasn’t changed: my cooking skills. They haven’t improved at all. In fact, I’ve grown to dislike cooking more and more. When it’s time to cook, I feel anxious and depressed.

The kids are all grown and gone. Now it’s just me and my husband, and I’d like to keep dinner simple.
“What should we eat?” I asked, carefully watching his reaction.
“Rice,” he replied.
“Can’t we have something else instead of rice?”

“You know me. I have to eat rice for dinner.”

He said it so annoyingly that I almost snapped.I was about to ask, “Rice and what else?” but got too irritated to continue.

I glared at my husband as he sat reading the newspaper, not even bothering to help as dinnertime approached. He didn’t say a word, but his face clearly read, “Go ahead and glare. No matter how much you resist, cooking is still your duty and responsibility.”

When the kids were younger, I had to juggle between American meals for them and Korean meals for him. I thought I’d be free from the role of a housemaid once the kids moved out. But now, my husband demands even more traditional Korean meals. He doesn’t expect gourmet cooking, nor do I cook anything he particularly likes, but the fact that I don’t even want to cook frustrates him.

But seriously—what’s so important about eating? If there’s no rice, eat bread, or instant noodles—just fill your stomach. If he wants something special, why not cook it himself? But no, he never does.

Sometimes, I want to ride a small sailboat and let it drift far, far away—wherever the current takes me. But then again, why can’t I stop thinking about that dream, where I’m lost on a dusty road, searching for my husband and child?