“What’s so great about shaky-legged ballet that you suddenly want to go so badly? Seriously.”
It’s been a while since I’ve had kimchi, since I haven’t been to the Korean grocery store. On a cold, snowy winter day like this, I crave a bowl of warm rice topped with aged kimchi stew, roasted seaweed, chopped green onions, and salted pollack roe.
Just then, my husband had an errand near Chinatown, so I decided to go with him to pick up some kimchi ingredients.
“It’s snowing a lot. Since we’re out, should we go to that Japanese restaurant near East Village?”
“Sashimi with warm sake? Sounds perfect.”
We sat in a clean, cozy Japanese restaurant, looking out at the snow falling gently outside. I was already imagining the sake warming my throat, making my mouth water — when suddenly, the phone rang. It was a friend who always calls whenever she gets Lincoln Center tickets. She had a ballet ticket and asked if I could meet her.
I thought, I can get kimchi or go to this restaurant any other day… but the ballet? It’s only tonight.So I said, “Can you turn the car around?”
Weeks fly by overnight. Then a whole year. Like fleeting connections, time seems to pass like a bird flying across the sky. And one day, it just disappears in the blink of an eye, like lightning. Someone once said, in your 60s, time flies at 60 miles an hour, and in your 70s, at 70. There’s so much I want to do, but my mind and body can’t always keep up — and time just keeps slipping by.
By the time I get up and start working, the sun is already setting, painting the windows like a curtain. I feel a sense of loss and tell myself: Don’t put off today’s work or today’s chances until tomorrow.
The ballet wasn’t the magical scene my husband imagined — women in white dresses shaking on tiptoe. We had seats in the front row, close enough to see the orchestra below. But what stood out to me was the minimalist design — the costumes, the stage, the choreography. It felt like I had stepped into a modern art museum, surrounded by contemporary minimal art.
During intermission, I looked around and noticed many older people, elegantly dressed. They seemed so used to this kind of outing, as if art and culture were just part of their daily lives — thanks to the wealth and tradition passed down from their ancestors. I was honestly a bit envious of that kind of life.
Living in America, I often feel I’ve only skimmed the surface of American culture — the immigrant version. Deep down, I’ve always longed to experience the real, everyday culture of this country. But married to a Korean husband, I never truly had the chance to learn or live like them.
Still, it’s not like I’d ever think of changing my husband after 30 years together. That would be ridiculous. But… if he ever betrayed me and I suddenly had a new chance at life, I wouldn’t scream or cry. I’d just walk away without regrets.
Like the Korean women my age who now dream of dating foreigners and living a romantic second life — if I had the chance to fall in love with someone from a different culture and truly live and feel their world, I think I’d go for it. Why not? Though… who knows if it’s too late now that I’m older.
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