Friday, May 31, 2013
Two letters of love
Saturday, May 25, 2013
독자와 함께 춤을
Friday, May 24, 2013
Dancing with my article's reader
“Skipping your walk today?”
My husband asked me as I slept in late. It was his way of saying I should take it easy today—my feet and big toe hurt, and I was exhausted.
One of my loyal readers suddenly showed up at the church hall on Saturday night, where we gather to dance. I guess I tried too hard to dance well in front of her and ended up overdoing it. But instead of her being impressed by me, I was drawn to her. She said she was a year younger than me, but she looked so much younger! Her tall, slim figure, short bob haircut, and fresh, makeup-free face made her look like a graceful tree—so natural and full of life. I even asked, “Did you ever enter the Miss Korea pageant?”
She reminded me of the time my older sister brought her fiancé home for the first time. My father wasn’t too thrilled—he was tall and handsome, which didn’t quite match the rest of our family’s looks. I guess that’s why my father mumbled,
“Well, he sure is tall.”
As if that alone made him suspicious. I’m short myself, so looking up at this tall reader gave me a similar feeling—until she started chatting so warmly and dancing so freely that I found myself glancing at her, sneaking looks, and just enjoying her company.
“How are you so slim and youthful?” I asked.
“If you look closely, I’m not really,” she replied.
But I had to look closely—she danced so well!
“I may not be good with brain work,” she joked, “but I’m great with physical things.”
Clearly no need for a dance teacher—she has a marathoner’s body and moves to prove it.
She told me she’s read every piece I’ve published in the newspaper—even reminding me of parts I didn’t remember myself. She had even been to my husband’s art exhibition!
Did I reveal too much of my life in my writing? That’s always my dilemma. But what else can I do? The only writing I know how to do is spinning stories from my own life into a kind of panoramic monologue.
It was a funny feeling—this woman knew so much about me, yet I knew nothing about her. It felt a bit unfair, but it also filled me with gratitude and curiosity. I had to keep dancing while trying to suppress my urge to ask her a million questions. I didn’t want to seem rude, but I was dying to know more. Then she said,
“You know, dancing is best when the music is slow and sticky~.”
Sticky! Music that wraps around your body. When that kind of music played, she would float across the floor like a feather, dancing so lightly. When the music turned dry and dull, she would sit and chat in a calm, thoughtful voice. It was hard not to be drawn in.
Even my husband grew curious and said,
“Calling her a reader sounds too stiff. Let’s just call her ‘Deok-ja’—it’s warmer.”
("Deok-ja" is a play on the word for “virtue” and sounds like a name.)
My Deok-ja is a woman who really knows things.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
천만의 말씀
Friday, May 17, 2013
You are welcome
"Mom, I ordered jajangmyeon, and it arrived so fast it felt like it was already at the door. It’s cheap, delicious, and there’s no tip!"
That’s what my son said during a Skype call from Seoul.
Since my husband and I didn’t speak English very well, we only spoke Korean at home while raising our kids. If they answered in Korean, I’d give them an extra spoonful of food, so they naturally picked it up. But teaching them to read and write Korean was a different story. They squirmed and whined,
“Mom, I don’t want to do this anymore!”
Watching me struggle, my husband finally put up a chalkboard and, like an old-time village schoolteacher, began:
“Ga-na-da-ra-ma-ba-sa... a-ya-eo-yeo-o-u-i...”
Now grown up and in Korea, my son was thrilled he could read menus and pick out what he wanted to eat.
“At restaurants, the ajummas ask me how old I am, what I do, and if I go to church. They even give me extra side dishes! Why are Korean people so curious about others’ lives?”
“They’re not being nosy, just warm and friendly. So answer kindly—don’t get annoyed.”
“Do you have a girlfriend yet?” I asked.
“Korean girls are different from the ones in New York. They kind of look the same, wear matching clothes with their boyfriends, the same shoes and even couple rings. And they talk in this cute baby voice and always want to be with their boyfriends. Why do they do that?”
He seemed a bit surprised by the cultural differences among people his age.
“But Korean people are really kind. They always tell me not to hesitate to ask for help,” he said.
“If you want to eat food like I made at home, look for something called baekban.”
“What’s that?”
Come to think of it, I’m not even sure if restaurants still use the term baekban—a typical set meal from the '60s and '70s.
“Just look carefully at the menu.”
“Hmm... I think I saw grilled fish or something.”
“Mom, thanks for teaching me Korean so well.”
I was so moved I couldn’t say anything. After a moment of silence, all I could manage was,
“You are welcome.”
Saturday, May 11, 2013
나의 신선도
Friday, May 10, 2013
Freshness of my skin
“Honey, what happened to your face?”
My husband looked shocked as I opened the door.
“What? Is something on my face?”
“Your face has lines on it. Look, one on the right, and another on the left.”
I rushed to the mirror. Sure enough, there was a deep crease running from under my right eye down to my jaw, and another one on the left side, starting from my eye.
It had all started with a Mother’s Day gift. My younger child had bought me a one-and-a-half-hour body massage voucher at a spa near Central Park, saying it was a great deal—half price on Groupon. The atmosphere was lovely: soft scents, calm music, and stylish people coming and going.
I was led into a dim room and told to lie face down on a massage bed with a hole for my face.
Honestly, I wanted a firm massage that would really work out the knots, but the therapist was just lightly patting and rubbing. I couldn’t complain—it was a fancy place—so I lay there quietly, thinking about my friend’s outdoor “ondol” room.
My friend lives in sunny L.A., where her garden is filled with fruit trees and flowers. Every morning, she chats with her trees over a cup of coffee, and at night, she lies in her outdoor ondol room and watches the stars.
“Nothing beats an ondol room. Even a Korean sauna bed would be better than this!”
With those grumbles in my head, I fell asleep, my face pressed tightly into the round pillow with the hole—no wonder I woke up with dents!
“Mom, did you like it?”
The massage took time, energy, and money—including tax and tip—but I smiled and said,
“Yes, it was nice. But maybe next time... get me something different?”
“Why?”
“Well... I want to try a little of everything.”
(What I meant was: I never want that again.)
Looking in the mirror at my creased face, I suddenly remembered dining with a friend at a Japanese restaurant. When the giant sashimi boat arrived at our table, she started poking each piece with her chopsticks. She said it was to check freshness—“If the fish springs back right away, it’s fresh. If the dent stays, it’s not.”
That explanation now echoed in my mind.
How “un-fresh” must I be that my face still hasn’t sprung back even after midnight?
Youth... How I miss it.
“Youth—it’s a word that makes your face dent just hearing it.”