“우리 딸이 너무 과분해서 감당하기 어려워 물러난 거야”
Saturday, July 27, 2013
쿨하단다
“우리 딸이 너무 과분해서 감당하기 어려워 물러난 거야”
Friday, July 26, 2013
It's cool
Saturday, July 20, 2013
잃어버린 동창회
Friday, July 19, 2013
Lost homecoming
Saturday, July 13, 2013
헤어지는 연습
사이 좋을 때는 하늘이 점지해 준 인연 운운하면서 좋아라 유난을 떨다 별일 아닌 것으로 티격태격하며 열을 올린다. 끝장 볼 때까지 가 볼까 하다가도 언젠가는 헤어질 너와 난데, 결국 죽음에 의해 헤어질 수밖에 없는 인연이거늘.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Breaking up practice
"At our age, how many more times do you think we’ll get to meet?"
The more I think about what my friend said, the more I realize—it wasn’t just small talk.
“It’s me, Suim.”
I hesitated for a while, then finally gathered the courage to call her.
“Where are you? Are you in LA? Come over to my house.”
“It’s fine. I just wanted to hear your voice before I leave.”
When we were younger, we met to build friendships and get closer. Now, we meet almost as if we’re preparing to say goodbye. I originally planned to just call and catch up, but ended up staying late into the night, talking and laughing—practicing the art of parting with old friends, slowly growing older together.
When I meet someone with a bright and cheerful spirit, their energy lifts me up and makes me want to see them again. But some people are always stuck in negativity or problems. You hope things will get better for them, but new issues keep piling up, and each meeting turns into another round of heavy conversations. Eventually, the relationship becomes distant and fades away.
There’s someone I know who always wears very bright, bold colors. He can be friendly, then suddenly explode in anger and ruin the mood. He’s carried a lot of emotional baggage since childhood, and when something upsets him, it’s like he releases a burst of vampire-like negative energy. After spending time with him, I feel unsettled for days. There are so many joyful people to meet—why keep forcing tense, unpredictable interactions that make me feel like I’m walking on eggshells?
No one—not even a spouse or children—has the duty or the ability to make me happy.
I have to find my own way to create joy in life. Only then can I share that happiness with others and have meaningful connections.
My husband and I went to the same college. Back then, we barely even looked at each other, worried that some awkward relationship might form.
But after going around in circles in this vast country, a senior once told me, “I know a lonely guy you should meet.”
When things are good between us, we say it must’ve been fate that brought us together. But then we argue over the silliest things. Sometimes it gets so heated I wonder if we’ll ever cool down—but in the end, we’re just two people who will one day part ways. Eventually, death will separate us anyway.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
우리들의 수다
정신을 헤까닥 놓아 버린다는 그 이상한 두뇌 병이 우리를 거들떠보지 않고 비껴간다면 우리의 수다는 멈추지 않고 영원히 계속되리라.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Our chatter
"Is there anywhere you want to go?"
My friends in Seoul asked me warmly, knowing I had come from far away.
Even after I moved to the U.S. long ago, my friends continued to meet once a month at popular restaurants, chatting and staying close over the years. After each gathering, one of them would often send me an email, sometimes with photos, sharing where they went, what they ate, and how much fun they had.
I’d imagine their outings from afar and feel a deep longing, spending the next few days in a cloud of nostalgia.
“I want to go where you usually hang out.”
I wanted to experience the kind of day I had only imagined from New York.
We agreed to meet at the entrance of Myeong-dong, in front of the Woori Bank—a convenient spot for everyone. As we walked toward Myeong-dong Cathedral, we peeked into alleyways, but there were hardly any traces left of the good old days.
We had lunch at a restaurant near the cathedral called “A Small Happiness in the Garden.” It’s a Korean fusion restaurant where the chef, who used to cook for the Myeong-dong priests, now prepares meals using organic vegetables she grows herself. The food was pretty good, and the atmosphere was pleasant.
But honestly, I longed for something else. A 1970s-style tented street stall where I could pull back the plastic flap and say,
“Ajumma, one bottle of soju and some fishcakes, please!”
Or a market stall where I could sit and shout,
“Ajumma, makgeolli and a plate of mung bean pancakes!”
And then finish it off with noodles in a hot fishcake broth sprinkled with green onions.
Every time I went to Seoul, I swore I’d try a pojangmacha (street stall), but my father would always say,
“If you want a stomachache, go ahead.”
So I never got to go. Now I even wonder—do those stalls still exist?
Meanwhile, my husband dreams of sipping whiskey in one of those fancy bars from Korean dramas.
After leaving the elegant restaurant, we went to a café called “Coin.” Most places these days have long or English names. We ordered our drinks and chatted for ages, and just as our throats were starting to feel dry, a Japanese waiter kindly brought over complimentary coffee and tea.
A Japanese waiter? In the middle of Myeong-dong? Globalization? It was a bit confusing.
But my friends said that’s why they like this café—no one rushes you, and they even bring you freebies.
I remembered a senior once saying about a favorite restaurant,
“They don’t pressure the customers here.”
And we had all nodded in agreement.
It was already sunset, but no one mentioned going home. We dipped our feet into the Cheonggyecheon stream and kept chatting endlessly. Even then, my eyes kept drifting upward.
The ghostly image of the massive overpass that used to loom over Cheonggyecheon was still stuck in my mind.
If that strange brain disease—the one that takes away your memory and thoughts—never touches us, Then maybe, just maybe, Our endless conversations will go on forever.