There is an Indonesian proverb that goes, "Monkeys actually understand human speech; they just pretend they don't because they're afraid of being made to work." Whenever I think of this proverb, it brings back my late mother’s constant advice: “Don't go around telling people what you're good at. If you do, they’ll make you work.”
Perhaps because of her teachings, I am never the first to volunteer or start a new project. Whenever someone invites me to join something, I mentally put on my magnifying glass and scrutinize them carefully. Does this person have the ability to lead well? Are they the type to disappear when they get bored? Are they responsible enough to stand by their words? How resilient are they? Do they have the empathy to care for others? I ask these questions because I hate getting dragged into unpredictable situations and facing regret; I simply want to focus on the things I love and do them thoroughly. However, once I commit to a path, I stay deeply dedicated and hold on stubbornly until the leader tells me to leave. Of course, every now and then, I play the fool and get a bit of criticism, but since I am well aware of my own flaws, I just let it go with a laugh.
The president of the "Soo" Book Club, which I belong to, not only meets all my strict criteria but is also a resilient person—a true "wildweed"—even more so than I am. Interestingly, I actually met her husband before I met her, back in 1995. At the time, my husband was eagerly longing to become a professor in Korea, so we ended up living apart. He headed to Seoul, while I moved with my two kindergarten-aged children to Closter, New Jersey, an area known for its great school district. Looking for a part-time job while the kids were at school, I stepped into a company that turned out to be owned by the president's husband. When I hesitated during the interview, saying I lacked experience and was getting older, the boss warmly welcomed me, saying, "Age is just a number."
About ten years later, I met the boss's wife for the first time at a book club. She was a woman who had retired after teaching for 20 years at a high school in Bergen County, New Jersey. One day, while attending the opening of a senior artist's exhibition, I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. There she was, standing side by side with my former boss. That was how I discovered they were married.
Thanks to that twist of fate, my former boss's wife now leads both the book club and the writing club I attend, serving as a dependable anchor for a long time. Knowing how lonely and heavy the burden of leading a group can be, I believe that following her quietly and faithfully is the most beautiful support I can offer. The thread of connection that started in a small New Jersey office thirty years ago has now woven itself into a solid, beautiful habit in my daily life—reading books and writing stories together.
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