At a small outdoor pool, just big enough for two people, an Asian couple clinked their wine glasses while wearing sunglasses. I wasn’t sure what they shouted, but I tried to listen. I looked at them carefully. They seemed Korean, but their tough appearance made it hard to approach them.
For two weeks on the cruise, I didn’t meet any Koreans. Most Asians were Chinese. On the 20th day, I finally heard the couple—who had clinked their glasses—speaking to another couple who looked Chinese. This time, I clearly heard Korean.
“They’re Korean. Should we say hello?” I whispered.
“Don’t. Let’s just stay quiet until we get off the ship,” my husband replied.
So instead of talking to them, I just gave them a small eye greeting.
A month later, after getting off the ship, we ran into the same couple at the airport. Again, I gave them an eye greeting. On the plane, to my surprise, they were seated right next to us. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I wanted to say something, but my husband nudged me in the side to stop.
Still, I felt guilty staying silent. So I finally confessed.
“Hello. Before getting off the ship, I heard you speaking in Korean.”
“Oh, really?” the man answered.
He quickly stood up and reached out to shake my husband’s hand. My husband accepted the handshake unwillingly.
“Where are you going?” the man asked.
“To New York,” my husband replied.
“We’re going to Florida,” the man said.
After that, the four of us became completely silent, as if we had agreed not to talk anymore. No one wanted to start another conversation. Luckily, it was not a long flight.
“Goodbye,” I said politely while taking down my bag.
Still, I felt a sticky, uncomfortable feeling, like something clinging to me. What could I do? In the old days, when Koreans were rare, we would have already become friends. But now that there are many Koreans, people quietly avoid each other. Maybe I should have stayed silent, like my husband said, for their comfort. My confession probably made them uncomfortable.
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