Mind your own business

Raising four children in Seoul meant spending a fortune on private education, and my sister-in-law's worries kept growing. Wanting to "help out" my side of the family, I had the brilliant idea to turn her into a gireogi mom—a mother raising kids in the U.S. while her husband stays in Korea. Honestly, I think I was just upset watching my aging parents' hard-earned savings slowly disappear. It pained me.

But what happened next caught me off guard. The private education didn’t stop when they moved to America—it just continued, even more intensely. On top of that, my sister-in-law started taking golf and flute lessons. And to make things worse, she got hooked on shopping. I get that the U.S. is full of tempting things, but this was too much. I started waking up in the middle of the night in regret, tossing and turning, wondering why I ever encouraged them to come here.

"Wow, must be nice to have that kind of money!"

I whined to my father, tattling like a child.

“If my daughter-in-law wants to spend it, why not?” he replied.

“If you’d married well, you could do the same. It's all a matter of luck and fortune.”

Already overwhelmed with his own health issues, my father clearly didn’t want to get involved. Every time I complained, he shut me down with:

“Worry about yourself. You take care of you.”

We always say life in America is frugal, but the truth is, if you want to buy something nice, you still have to think it over a hundred times—pick it up, put it down, pull out a coupon, hunt for a cheaper option. But my sister-in-law seemed to live in another world.

I couldn’t stand the thought that while I—their own daughter—hadn’t even touched a cent of the money my parents worked so hard to save, this outsider came in and spent it freely. I kept waiting… hoping something might “trickle down” to me. But it felt like she cut the line and snatched what should have been mine. I guess I should’ve seen it coming, back when people lined up for my not-so-special little brother just because of his good looks. I felt robbed—like my bowl had been taken away. Bitter. Jealous. Twisted up inside.

A friend once told me a story about her daughter. She had gone to visit her married daughter’s home and started fussing over things, telling her what to do. Finally, the daughter snapped.

“Mom, is this your house or my house?”

“Well… it’s yours.”

“Then who’s the boss here—me or you?”

“You are.”

“Exactly. So when you come to my house, you follow my rules. When I come to your house, I’ll follow yours.”

That story hit me hard.

The money my father earned and my mother managed so carefully—somehow, I thought I had a right to it. But the truth is, I didn’t help earn it. I just spent some of it going abroad for school. And after Mom passed and Dad’s strength faded, my sister-in-law’s influence only grew. At the end of the day, money goes to whoever the person holding it wants to give it to.

So I decided: no more peeking into someone else’s bowl. I’ll just protect what’s in mine and live my life. Even my father stopped saying, “You take care of you.” Because now, I finally am.