A person who misses

I saw a tall person walking with a hunched back, wearing black leather clothes and leg warmers. I almost said, “Oh, that’s our senior. Stop the car!” but then I remembered.

We used to call him Dr. Jung. He didn’t have a PhD, but he traveled around a lot and met many people, so he knew a lot. He said it was because he read weekly magazines all the time. He liked it when people called him Dr. Jung.

“Hey, come hang out.”

“We just hung out yesterday!”

“Playing during the week and playing on the weekend are totally different.”

That’s when I realized—even people who party every day want to have more fun on weekends.

He told us the story of going to finalize his divorce with his ex-wife at least a dozen times.
“I was waiting for my turn at the courthouse, and the couple in front of me started arguing. Can you believe it? They came to get divorced and were still fighting!”
When talking about other people’s divorces, his voice got loud and excited.
“When it was finally our turn, we said our final vows to end things nicely. But then she just turned around, jumped into a taxi, and sped away. I can still see that taxi driving off in my mind.”
When it came to his own divorce, his voice got quiet.

He was one of the witnesses at our wedding at city hall. The retired army colonel who performed the short ceremony thought none of us understood English, so he rushed through the vows even more quickly than usual. We didn’t even have time to take pictures. Dr. Jung actually demanded we do it again.

“Hey, they say if a divorced person officiates your wedding, the couple will end up divorcing too. Is that okay?”
He said this with a worried but excited look on his face as he officiated my younger sister’s wedding. Sadly, her marriage didn’t go smoothly.

During those hard and lonely times, with nowhere to go, we often visited Dr. Jung on weekends, holidays, and special occasions. When someone said, “Let’s stop drinking now—for your health,” he would snap back,

“You don’t even know how to have fun! I’ll live longer than you. Go home, you punk.”

He said he’d live a long life… But he passed away young from pancreatic cancer.

On holidays like today, I still feel like he’ll call me, saying:
“Hey, do you have any kimchi?”

Now I say things like:
“Dr. Jung is probably drinking with Mr. Lee in heaven by now, right?”

“Of course. If they were still here, we’d be having a drink together.”

Drinking doesn’t feel the same anymore.

친구의 분노

맨해튼 첼시로 가는 길 트래픽이 몹시 심했다. 서울에 사는 동기 동창이 뉴욕 화랑 밀집 지역인 첼시에서 개인전을 했다. 드디어 한국에서 잘 나가는 작가 라더니 뉴욕까지 왔구나! 가난한 화가도 성공해서 잘 살 수 있다는 것이 뿌듯하며 자랑스러웠다. 빨리 보고 싶은 마음에 조바심이 났다.

밀려든 관람객에 둘러싸여 있는 동기는 알아보지 못할 정도로 훤하게 변해 있었다. 그를 멀리서 바라보며 대학 시절로 되돌아갔다.

미술 대학에서의 남학생들은 여학생들과는 달리 가난했다. 특히 지방에서 올라온 그는 더욱 가난했다. 그가 등록금 낼 때면 다른 남학생들이 내일처럼 걱정과 수심에 차 있었다. 수업이 끝난 후에도 학교 실기실에서 심각한 얼굴로 앉아 있었다. 그림을 그리느라 있었던 것이 아니라 돈이 없어 갈 곳이 없어서였다.

못다 한 이야기를 하고 싶은 마음에 집으로 불렀다. 그렇게 말이 없고 우울한 모습으로 기억에 남아있던 그가 어찌나 웃기는지 우리는 밤새도록 떠들었다. 

“야, 걔 있잖아.’ 

기억력을 더듬으면서

‘걔 있잖아’

를 연발하며 학창시절로 돌아갔다. 우리 동기들이 다 아는 그의 절절한 사연, 이루지 못한 옛사랑 이야기가 결국엔 술기운에 튀어나오고 말았다.

그는 우리 일 년 후배와 오랫동안 사귀었다. 그러나 가난한 화가라는 이유로 그녀 부모의 완강한 반대에 부딪혔다. 딸과 같은 공부를 했던 그를 비하하는 모습에 얼마나 허탈했을까? 결국, 그녀는 온 집안의 반대를 극복 못 하고 돈 많은 남자를 선택했다.

결혼식장에 찾아간 그는 양팔을 잡아 끌어내는 그녀의 형부들에 의해 쫓겨났고 그녀는 결혼하고 외국으로 떠났다. 그 상처로 젊은 나날을 괴로움 속에서 보냈다. 오래된 일이지만 그의 가슴에 맺힌 한을 들으며 모두가 조용해졌다.

허나 인생길이 그리 순탄하기만 할까. 그녀는 남편이 사업에 실패하자 조용히 한국으로 돌아와 그가 성공한 화가로 이름이 알려지자 전시회에 나타나곤 했다. 그러다 얼마 전부터는 그에게 전화해서 만나자는 것을 짜증 섞인 목소리로 거절했다는 이야기다.

가난하고 희망이 없었던 화가를 믿고 결혼해준, 지금의 그를 있게 한 부인에게 도리가 아니라서 만나지 않았단다. 이루지 못한 옛사랑을 말한다기보다는 가난해서 받았던 옛 상처를 다시 헤집어 놓은 것에 대한 분노를 말하고 있었다.

“너를 선택하지 않은 것은 큰 실수 한 거야. 복을 찬 거야.” 

우리는 합창으로 위로 아닌 위로를 했다. 

“어떠한 상황에서도 우리는 우리 아이들의 결혼을 반대해서는 안 된다. 알았지. 알아들었어. 알아들었느냐니까?” 

친구는 술에 취해 가슴에 맺힌 한을 토했다.

The anger of friend's

The traffic on the way to Chelsea in Manhattan was terrible. A friend from back in school, who now lives in Seoul, was holding a solo exhibition in Chelsea—New York’s gallery district.
They’d been saying he was finally making it big in Korea, and now here he was, in New York!
It felt great and made me proud to know that even a poor artist could succeed and live well. I was excited to see his work and couldn’t wait to get there.

When I arrived, he was surrounded by visitors, and he looked so polished that I barely recognized him. Watching him from a distance, my mind went back to our college days.

Back in art school, most of the male students were poor—especially compared to the female students. He was even poorer than most, having come from a rural area. Whenever tuition was due, the other guys would worry as if it were their own problem. Even after class, he would sit silently in the studio—not drawing, but simply with nowhere else to go because he had no money.

Wanting to catch up, I invited him over to my place. The quiet, gloomy guy I remembered from school turned out to be so funny—we ended up talking and laughing all night. We kept saying, “Hey, remember that guy? You know, that guy…” as we searched our memories and brought the past back to life. Eventually, with a little alcohol, the story we all knew came out—his old heartbreak.

He had dated a classmate a year below us for a long time. But her parents strongly opposed their relationship because he was a poor artist. How painful it must’ve been to hear them belittle him, even though he studied the same thing as their daughter. In the end, she couldn’t go against her family and married a wealthy man instead.

On her wedding day, he showed up but was dragged out by her brothers-in-law.
She got married and moved overseas. That left a deep wound, and he spent his young adult years in heartbreak and sadness. Though it happened long ago, as he told the story, the room went silent.

But life rarely stays on one path. When her husband’s business failed, she quietly returned to Korea. After he became a successful and well-known artist, she began showing up at his exhibitions. And recently, she even started calling him, asking to meet. He said he refused in an annoyed voice.

He didn’t want to meet her—not because of bitterness over lost love—but because he felt it wasn’t right to his wife, the woman who had believed in him when he had nothing. His voice was filled not with nostalgia, but with anger—anger from old wounds caused by poverty, not love.

“She made a huge mistake not choosing you. She threw away her luck.”

We all chimed in, comforting him in unison, though it didn’t quite feel like comfort.

“No matter what, we must never oppose our own children’s marriages. Got it? You hear me? Do you really hear me?”

Drunk, our friend finally poured out the pain that had stayed in his heart for years.

당신은 특별한가요?

‘벌써 비행기가 착륙한 건 아니겠지?’ 조바심이 나 주차를 하고 오겠다는 남편을 뒤로하고 부리나케 터미널 1, 서울에서 오는 비행기 도착지로 뛰어갔다.

드문드문 사람들이 나오고 있다. 옆에 있는 한국 여자가 손을 들어 양복 입고 나오는 남자를 반기길래 서울에서 오는 비행기가 도착했느냐고 물었다. 

“우리 남편은 일등석을 타고 와서 잘 모르겠는데요.” 

얼떨결에 ‘아! 일등석, 그렇지 일등석은 일반석보다 빨리 날지.’ 남편과 팔짱을 끼고 멀어져가는 그녀를 보며 아차 싶었다. 같은 비행기잖아!

젊은 혈기에 세상을 둘러보겠다고 집 떠난 아이는 온몸이 햇볕에 그을린 동남아시안 모습으로 커다란 배낭을 짊어지고 뒤늦게 나왔다. 편하냐 불편하냐의 차이지 일등석이나 일반석이나 같은 속도로 나르지 않는가!

친정아버지가 갑자기 병원에 입원했다. 급하게 서울 가는 비행기 표를 구해 공항에 갔다. 항공권을 스크린하고 탑승하러 가는 긴 통로를 지나다 먼 친척을 만날 줄이야. 매우 반가웠다.

“서울 가세요? 잘됐네요. 긴 여행 이야기하면서 가면.” 

“전 일등칸을 타는데요.” 

“아 그러세요.” 

“알래스카에서 내려서 이야기해요. 그럼 이만.”

왼쪽 일등석 통로로 들어갔다. 나는 오른쪽 일반석으로 들어가며 

“기다릴게요.”

나는 알래스카 공항에 잠깐 쉬었다 가는 비행기에서 내려 그녀를 기다렸다. 그러나 그녀를 찾아 이리저리 헤맸지만 보이지 않았다.

그녀는 먼 친척으로 한국에서 어렵게 살다 꿈의 나라 미국에 와서 자영업을 열심히 일궈 나름대로 성공한 사람이다. 가족모임에서 서너 번 만났다. 만날 때마다 약간 비하하는 말투로 

“아직 그곳에 사세요?”

가 그녀의 인사다. 오래전 그녀는 난방도 없는 나의 브루클린 스튜디오에 왔었다. 그때 내가 사는 모습을 보고 놀랐는지 그녀의 기억엔 내가 항상 추운 스튜디오에서 떨고 있는 모습으로 각인된 듯하다.

미국의 시작은 루저들의 시작이었다. 우리가 고국을 떠날 때는 너나 할 것 없이 모든 분야에서의 모자람을 채워보려는, 한마디로 잘 살아보겠다는 각오로 떠났다. 그런데 형편이 조금 나아졌다고 해서 지난날의 어려움을 되돌아볼 틈도 없이 그동안 쌓인 천박한 싸구려 선민의식을 곳곳에 내뱉는다.

나 또한 남들 앞에서 불쑥 튀어나오는 나의 알량한 행동과 말들이 여러 사람의 가슴을 후비고 그들의 머릿속에 각인되었을 것을 생각하면, 남들이 나에게 퍼붓는 우쭐거림은 그리 화낼만한 일은 아닌지도 모르겠다.

Are you special?

“The plane hasn’t landed already, has it?”
Feeling anxious, I left my husband—who said he’d go park the car—and rushed into Terminal 1 toward the arrivals area for flights from Seoul.

People were slowly coming out. I saw a Korean woman nearby wave to a man in a suit and asked her,

“Has the flight from Seoul arrived?”

She said,

“My husband flew first class, so I’m not really sure.”

For a second, I was caught off guard.

“Oh, right… first class. They do come out earlier.”

As I watched her walk away arm-in-arm with her husband, I suddenly realized, Wait—it's the same plane!

My child, who had left home young and full of dreams to see the world, finally appeared. His skin was dark from the sun, and he had a huge backpack on. He looked like a Southeast Asian traveler. First class or economy—it’s just a difference in comfort, not in speed. The plane flies the same for everyone!

One day, my father was suddenly hospitalized. I rushed to the airport with a last-minute ticket to Seoul. As I passed through the long corridor after security, I ran into a distant relative. I was really happy to see her.

“You’re going to Seoul? Great—we can catch up during the flight.”

She replied,

“Oh, I’m flying first class.”

“I see…”

“Well, let’s talk when we stop over in Alaska. See you then.”

And with that, she entered the first-class boarding gate on the left. I turned right, into economy, and said,

“I’ll wait for you.”

At the Alaska airport, where the plane stopped briefly, I got off and looked around to find her—but she was nowhere to be found.

This distant cousin had lived a hard life in Korea, then moved to the U.S.—the land of dreams—and worked hard in her small business. She became fairly successful. We had met a few times at family gatherings. Each time, she would greet me with a slightly condescending tone:
“Still living in that place?”

Long ago, she had visited me in my freezing studio apartment in Brooklyn with no heat. Maybe that image stuck with her. In her mind, I was probably still shivering there, wrapped in a blanket.

For many of us, life in America started as a life of struggle. When we left Korea, we did it with the hope of filling in the gaps in our lives—to live better. But some people, once they feel a little more stable, forget those hard times. Instead, they let out shallow, cheap feelings of superiority at every chance they get.

Thinking about it now, I realize that I, too, must have said or done things that left scars in others—things that came from my own small pride. Maybe the arrogance others show me now isn’t something I should be so angry about.
Maybe it’s just my turn.

여자 넷이 모이면

60이 내일 모래인 경상도, 전라도, 충청도 그리고 서울 여자 넷이서 신이 났다. 웃음소리에 차가 휘청거렸다. 밥해 줘야 하는 남편들을 집에 두고 떠나는 2박 3일이니 오죽하겠는가.

친구가 20년 전에 맨해튼에서 북쪽으로 두 시간 가는 코네티컷 강가에 사 놓은 집에 가서 놀기로 했다. 실내 수영장이 있어 수영복도 챙겼다. 한 달에 한 번 만나 이야기가 재미있어지려면 저녁때가 되어 남편들 챙기느라 헤어지곤 하는 사이다. 감질나는 만남에 아예 멍석 깔고 누워 못다 한 이야기를 하기로 작정하고 떠났다.

비가 부슬부슬 와도 우리는 즐거웠다. 휴게소에 들러 창밖을 내다보며 커피를 마셨다. 빗속에서 뒹구는 우리를 닮은 낙엽을 보며 잠깐 말 없이 조용하긴 했지만, 우리들의 이야기는 집에 도착할 때까지 그리고 커다란 식탁에 가져온 음식들을 올려놓고 먹으면서도 그칠 줄 몰랐다.

우리는 약속이라도 한 듯 네 명 모두 사이 좋게 한 명씩 돌아가며 이야기했다. 말과 행동이 느리다는 일반 상식과는 달리 충청도가 고향인 친구는 우리 중에서 행동이 제일 잽싸다. 항상 앞서 걷는 그녀가 우리의 대장이다.

부지런하고 붙임성있는 경상도 친구는 대장을 보조하며 우리의 만남을 편하게 해준다. 미국 산 지 30년이 지났건만 여전히 짙은 전라도 사투리를 쓰는 친구가 말할 때는 그 억양이 정겹고 재미있어 더욱 흥이 났다. 친구의 사투리는 우리를 마치 어린 시절 뛰놀던 고향 산천으로 되돌리는 듯하다.

우리는 자지러지며 웃기도 하고 심각한 이야기에는 놀라기도 하며 시간 가는 줄 모르고 떠들다 수영장으로 자리를 옮겼다. 수영할 생각은 않고 머리 넷을 맞대고 이야기는 이어졌고 덜덜 떨면서도 물속에서 나올 생각을 하지 않았다. 추운 물속에서 그리도 오래 수다를 떨 수 있다니!

와인을 곁들인 저녁상에서도 지칠 줄 모르고 떠들었다. 드디어는, 목에서 쇳소리가 났다. 넷 모두 쉰 허스키 소리를 내면서도 새벽 세시를 넘기고야 잠자리에 들었다.

우리의 수다는 시어머니와 남편 흉도 그리고 자식 자랑도 아니었다. 친구의 험담은 더더욱 아니었다.

“근께 고거이 우리가 따따부따 징허게 해 싼 것이 나이 들어 어찌케혀면 욕보지 않고 옹삭하지 않게 니캉 내캉 건강하고 즐겁게 살 수 있을까 였당께. 그렇고럼혀서 씨잘데 없는 꺽정일랑 말고 심 닿는 데까정 살다 디질때는 거시기 허게 콱 디져부러야 헌다는 야기였지라잉.” 

내 혀는 친구의 짙은 전라도 사투리에 익숙해져 갔다.

When the four women get together

Four women, each from a different region of Korea—Gyeongsang-do, Jeolla-do, Chungcheong-do, and Seoul—were excited, laughing so loudly the car almost shook. No wonder—we were off on a 2-night, 3-day trip, leaving our husbands behind at home to cook for themselves.

One friend had bought a house 20 years ago near the Connecticut River, about two hours north of Manhattan. It had an indoor pool, so we even packed swimsuits. Normally, we meet once a month, but the conversations barely get going before we have to say goodbye and go home to take care of our husbands. This time, we decided to stretch out on the floor, let loose, and talk until we’d said it all.

Even though it was lightly raining, we were happy. We stopped at a rest area, sipped coffee while looking out the window, and for a moment we fell quiet, watching the autumn leaves tumble around in the rain—just like us, blown around by life. But our chatter picked right back up and didn’t stop until we got to the house, sat around a big table, and laid out all the food we’d brought to share.

As if we had rehearsed it, we each took turns talking—one at a time. Despite the stereotype that people from Chungcheong-do are slow, our friend from there is the fastest and most energetic of us all. She always walks ahead and is our unofficial leader.

Our friend from Gyeongsang-do is hardworking and outgoing. She supports the leader and makes our gatherings run smoothly. The friend from Jeolla-do still speaks with a strong regional accent, even after living in America for over 30 years. Her way of speaking is warm and fun—it made everything livelier. Her dialect reminded us of home, of our childhood days running around in the Korean countryside.

We laughed until we cried, were shocked by some of the more serious stories, and before we knew it, hours had passed. Then we moved to the swimming pool—not to swim, really, but to keep talking. With our heads close together, we kept chatting even as we shivered in the cold water. Amazing how long we could talk in there!

At dinner, with wine in hand, the stories continued. By the end, our voices were hoarse and raspy. Even so, we stayed up talking until 3 a.m., only going to bed when we couldn’t stay awake any longer.

Our conversations weren’t filled with complaints about mothers-in-law, gossip about husbands, or bragging about our kids. And we definitely didn’t talk badly about other friends.

Instead, the Jeolla-do friend said—in her thick accent that I was now getting used to:

“So basically, what we were talking about is how we’ve lived such busy lives, and now that we’re older, how can we live well—without being a burden, staying healthy, and enjoying what’s left of our lives together. So we said, enough with all the nonsense. Let’s just live true to our hearts, and when it’s time to go, let’s go quick and clean, no regrets. That’s all we were saying, you know?”