An immature friend

“What are you doing?”

“Just sitting.” Or “Lying down.”

That’s what I usually say when a friend calls.

If I can’t paint, I lie down and stare at the ceiling, trying to get ideas.

If I can’t write, I lie on the sofa and flip through a book, hoping it might help. So, my answer is almost always the same.

My friends think it's strange that I'm just lying around or sitting around doing nothing and not even making a single phone call.

There was a time when I used to call friends a lot, and talk for a long time without thinking much. But then, I stopped. All my friends are busy running their businesses. And strangely, every time I called, they suddenly got customers. I would hear the sound of a cash register, the opening and closing of money drawers, and small talk with customers. If the customer stayed a while and the conversation dragged on, I would quietly hang up.

One friend runs a dry cleaner, so she had to find clothes and take payment. Another friend, who runs a photo shop, said a customer came in for a passport photo. A friend who owns a liquor store told me to hold on because a customer just walked in. And a friend at a nail salon said she had an appointment and would talk later.

While they’re all busy making money, I was just calling from one friend to another. One day, a friend snapped at me,

“Why are you so childish? Don’t you make money?”

A few days ago, a friend who runs three stores called me. She’s so busy, it feels like she needs three bodies. Sometimes she gives me a ride when she goes shopping for her stores, and during that time, she shares all her stories.

I looked at her closely as she drove. Her eyes were red from tiredness, her face had lost weight, and fine wrinkles had formed. She told me one of her workers hadn’t come to work. When she went to check, she found out the man had a brain hemorrhage and was in a coma. He’s a 42-year-old Chinese man who worked hard to send money to his family in China. But recently, business was slow, and he was under a lot of stress. He had also complained about chest pain.

“I try not to worry too much and stay positive… but now I just want to rest,”

my friend said with a sigh.

“Then just take a break,” 

I said without thinking.

“That’s easy for you to say! I’ve got so much going on.”

Before she could say again, 

“Why are you so childish?”

I looked out the window, which was slowly turning dark, and stayed silent.

화가 부부의 특별한 기념일

푸른 새가 앉아있는 나무 아래 두 여자가 양손을 잡고 있다. 친구가 보낸 생일 카드다. 우리의 우정에 알맞은 것을 찾기 위해 애쓴 듯하다. 

친구는 자상하게 내가 태어난 해로 돌아가서 음력으로 6월 18일이 양력으로는 7월 17일이라는 것을 알아냈다. 생일을 축하하며 ‘오랜 세월 친구로 있어줘서 고맙다’는 긴 내용도 있다.

그런데 우리 남편은 내 생일도 결혼 한 날도 기억하지 못한다.
"내 생일 지났네. 우리 결혼한 날이 언제인지 알아?”

“그런 것 어떻게 일일이 기억하며 살아?” 

속물이라는 듯이 나를 쳐다본다. 하기야 음력을 양력으로 알아내는 것도 번거롭고 먹고 살기도 어려운데 생일을 챙길 여유가 있었나.

"다시는 생일이나 결혼기념일을 챙기지 않을 거야."
어느 날 한 여유 있는 친구가 그간 속상한 사연을 털어놨다. 생일 잊어버린 남편에게 상기시키고, 분위기 있는 식당을 예약하고 외출 준비를 하고 나가 식탁에 앉아 있는 자신이 한심하다는 것이다. 막상 둘이 분위기를 낼라치면 지치고 기분이 나빠 티격태격 싸울 짓을 하느니 아예 포기하겠다며 선언 했단다.

둘 다 화가인 우리 부부의 기념일이란 ‘그림이 팔린 날’이다.

그림이 팔리면 우리는 그동안 챙기지 않고 살았던 날들을 위해 축하의 술잔을 부딪친다. 예전보다 술잔 부딪칠 일이 많아졌다. 잘하면 그동안 밀린 날들은 물론이고 앞으로 올 기념일까지도 앞당길지도 모른다.

우리 부부에게 가장 기뻤던 날은 어려운 시절 그나마 여유 있는 선배 화가가 그림을 사간 날이었다. 화가가 화가의 그림을 인정할 때가 더욱 술맛이 난다. 우리도 전시회를 다니다 보면 사고 싶은 그림이 있다. 어려운 동료나 후배에게 조그만 보탬이 되고자 비싸지 않은 작품을 몇 점 사기도 했다.

그나마 그림이 팔린 날도 별로 차린 것 없는 저녁 식탁을 보며 남편이 빈정거린다. 

“그래 음식 솜씨 없는 와이프 덕에 성인병에 걸리지 않은 것만도 고맙지.”
"그림이 뭐 거기서 거기지. 일단 화가는 건강하게 오래 살아야 영광을 볼 수 있는 확률이 높은 거야” 

우리부부는 신이나서 맞장구치며 술잔을 부딪친다.

A special anniversary for an artist couple

A blue bird sits on a tree, and beneath it, two women are holding hands. It’s a birthday card from a friend. It feels like she really tried to find something that suited our friendship. My friend kindly looked up the lunar calendar from the year I was born and figured out that my lunar birthday, June 18, falls on July 17 in the solar calendar. Along with the card, she wrote a long message thanking me for being her friend for such a long time.

But my husband doesn’t even remember my birthday or our wedding anniversary.
“My birthday already passed. Do you know when our wedding day is?”

“How can anyone remember all those little things?” 

he says, looking at me like I’m being ridiculous.

Well, maybe it is a bit much to expect someone to convert lunar dates to solar dates, especially when life is hard and busy. Maybe remembering birthdays isn’t a priority.

“I’m never going to celebrate birthdays or anniversaries again,”
one of my friends once said after sharing how upset she had been. She had reminded her husband of her birthday, made a reservation at a nice restaurant, dressed up, and waited at the table—only to feel foolish. Every time they tried to have a special evening, they ended up arguing. So she finally decided to give up on celebrations.

Both my husband and I are artists. For us, special days are “the days our paintings sell.” 

Whenever we sell a painting, we raise a glass to celebrate all the days we didn’t get to celebrate before. Lately, we’ve been clinking glasses more often. If things go well, we might even celebrate future anniversaries in advance.

The happiest day for us was when, during hard times, a more established artist bought one of our paintings. It feels extra special when one artist recognizes another’s work. Sometimes when we visit exhibitions, we find works we want to buy too. We've purchased a few affordable pieces to support fellow or younger artists.

Still, even on days when we sell a painting, our dinner table remains simple. My husband jokes:
“Well, at least thanks to your lack of cooking skills, I’ve managed to avoid getting any lifestyle diseases.”

And he adds, “All paintings are pretty much the same. What really matters is for artists to live long and stay healthy—then they’ll have a better chance at success.”

We laugh, clink our glasses again, and celebrate in our own way.

머리가 큰 우리 아이

창문을 통해 신생아실을 들여다봤다. 멀리서 봐도 동양 아이는 한 명이라 쉽게 내 아이라는 것을 알아봤다. 얼굴이 넓적한 게 머리가 컸다.

옆에 덩치가 나의 서너 배나 되는 백인 여자도 간호사가 아이를 들어 보여주니 반가워했다. 그녀는 내 큰 아이를 보더니 나를 아래위로 쳐다보며 놀라는 표정이다.
"네가 낳은 아이니?” 

너무 크게 낳아 창피해 기어들어가는 목소리로 

“응” 

“몇 파운드야?” 

“9파운드 8온스.” 

그녀는 놀라서 다시 나를 아래위로 쳐다보며 

“너의 작은 몸에서 어떻게 저렇게 큰 아이가 나올 수 있니?” 

“제왕절개 했어.” 

“네 아이는 몇 파운드니?” 

“6파운드.”

나의 첫 아이는 그 병원에서 그 주에 가장 큰 아이로 태어났다. 간호사가 아이를 데려와 내 품에 안겨주며 떠나지 않고 걱정하는 눈으로 쳐다보며 서 있었다. 내가 안고 일어나려고만 하면 아이를 떨어뜨린다며 침대에 앉아서 안으라고 성화다. 100파운드도 안 되는 내가 아이를 가누는 것이 불안했나 보다. 퇴원하던 날 간호사가 의미심장한 말을 했다.

“네가 아이의 보스가 돼야지 아이를 너의 보스로 만들어서는 안 된다.”

크게 난 아이가 자라면서 키가 안 큰다고 한다. 물론 엄마 아빠가 둘 다 작으니 클 리도 없겠지만, 아무튼 아이는 건강하게 자랐다. 외모에 관심이 많은 사춘기가 되면서 자신의 모습에 불만을 토하기 시작했다. 키는 작고 얼굴은 크고, 볼에 살이 너무 많고 다리가 굵다고 불평불만이다. 엄마 아빠의 나쁜 점만 닮았다며 원망했다. 9학년이 되자 아이 얼굴엔 여드름이 쫙 깔렸다. 

“생긴 게 뭐 그리 중요하다고 난리니 공부나 해”

타일러도 화를 내며 투덜대는 것이 예삿일이 아니다.

아이를 키우는 내내 옷, 장난감 등등 많은 것을 얻어다 키웠지만, 이제야말로 아끼고 아껴 모은 쌈짓돈을 풀 때가 아닌가 싶었다. 아이와 나는 부지런히 인터넷으로 여드름에 관한 정보를 수집했다. 좋다는 여드름약은 이것저것 사다 써보게 했다. 치아교정도 했고, 수영팀에도 넣었다. 아이의 관심을 다른 방향으로 바꾸려고 여름 방학마다 국외 봉사활동도 보냈다. 아이는 갑자기 자기를 위해 돈을 펑펑 쓰며 평상시와는 달리 행동하는 엄마를 보며 

“엄마 괜찮아? 우리 집 망하는 거 아니야?”

My big head child

I looked into the newborn room through the window. Even from a distance, I could easily tell which one was mine—he was the only Asian baby there. His face was wide, and his head looked big.

Next to me stood a white woman at least three or four times my size. A nurse held up her baby for her to see, and she smiled with joy. Then she looked at my big baby, glanced at me up and down, and gave a surprised expression.

“Is that your baby?”

I was embarrassed he was so big, so I answered in a small voice,

“Yes.”

“How many pounds?”

“9 pounds, 8 ounces.”

She looked at me in shock again, checking me out from head to toe.

“How could such a big baby come out of such a small body?”

“I had a C-section.”

“How much did your baby weigh?” I asked.

“6 pounds,” she replied.

My first child was the biggest baby born at that hospital that week. A nurse brought him to me and stayed by my side, watching me with worried eyes. Every time I tried to stand up while holding him, she warned me I might drop him and insisted I sit down to hold him instead. I guess she thought someone under 100 pounds like me couldn’t manage such a big baby safely. On the day we left the hospital, the nurse gave me some meaningful advice:“

You have to be the boss of your baby. Don’t let your baby become the boss of you.”

As the big baby grew, people started saying he wasn’t very tall. Of course, with both parents being short, it wasn’t a big surprise. But still, he grew up healthy. When he hit puberty, he became very self-conscious about his looks. He complained that he was short, his face was too big, his cheeks were too chubby, and his legs were thick. He blamed us, saying he inherited only the worst parts of both Mom and Dad.

By 9th grade, his face was covered in acne.

“Why do you care so much about your looks? Just focus on your studies,” 

I said, but he would grumble and argue back, more and more often.

All throughout his childhood, we had raised him with lots of hand-me-downs—clothes, toys, and more. But now, I felt it was time to finally use the money I had carefully saved up over the years. My child and I started researching everything we could find about acne online. I bought all kinds of acne treatments that people recommended. We got him braces and signed him up for the swim team. To shift his focus, I even sent him on overseas volunteer trips every summer.

One day, surprised by how much money I was suddenly spending on him and how different I was acting, he asked,
“Mom, are you okay? Are we going bankrupt or something?”

수영장 안의 그 남자

쓰레기 덤불에서 나온 듯, 생전 목욕이라고는 하지 않은 듯한 중 늙은이가 오늘도 공원을 헤매고 있다. 

몹시 추운 겨울을 제외하고는 항상 반바지 차림이다. 반바지라기보다는 박서 팬티만 달랑 입고 있다. 양쪽 팔 길이의 끈으로 서로 묶어진 두 마리의 강아지가 그의 뒤를 부지런히 발을 맞춰 따라간다. 

그는 우리 집에서 열 불럭 떨어진 곳에 산다. 그에게도 허물어져 가는 집이 있었고, 와이프인지 걸프렌드도 있었다. 어느 날 집이 헐리고 여자가 떠난 후 그는 헐린 집터의 폐차 안에서 산다. 

헐린 집터 자리도 반으로 줄었다. 재산세를 내지 못해 뉴욕시에 뺏겼단다. 철망으로 담이 쳐진 한쪽에 그가 살고 다른 한쪽은 공터로 그야말로 쑥대밭이다. 철망엔 옷가지 등 걸 수 있는 것은 모두 걸어 놨다. 화장실도 부엌도 없이 폐차 앞 길가 쪽으로 식탁과 의자를 놓고 거실 겸 부엌으로 쓴다.  

아침에 운동이 끝나면 둥근 빵에 뭔가를 열심히 발라먹는 그를 볼 수 있다. 식탁엔 과일, 빵 그리고 물과 양념 통들이 즐비하게 늘어져 있다. 양념 통들은 지나다니는 차들이 품어낸 먼지로 무슨 통인지 분간할 수도 없다.  

먹다 남은 음식을 쪼는 비둘기들이 식탁에서 항상 푸덕거린다. 식사 후 그는 흔들의자에 앉아 햇볕을 쬐며 가난한 철학자의 모습으로 책을 읽는다. 이 남자는 ‘과연 목욕이나 하고 사는 건가?’ ‘하면 어디서 할까?’ 궁금했다. 

브루클린 그린포인트 YMCA 수영장은 서울 동네 목욕탕만큼이나 유난히 작다. 수영장에서 조용히 혼자 수영을 즐기고 있던 어느 날이었다.  

멀리서만 유심히 관찰했던 그가 수영복도 아닌 길가에 항상 입고 다니던 그 팬티를 입은 채 풀장으로 텀벙 들어 오는 게 아닌가. 아차 싶었다. 수영을 못 하는 그는 씩씩거리며 물속을 헤집고 다니며 잘해 보려고 손을 허우적거리고 발로 물을 세게 걷어차며 기어가듯 수영을 했다. 작은 수영장 물이 밖으로 튀며 수라장이 되었다. 

보다 못한 라이프 가이드가 “Calm down man.” 하며 진정시키자 수영하는 방법을 가르쳐 달라며 이런저런 폼으로 물속에서 왔다 갔다 난리 쳤다. 이 광경을 지켜보던 나는 나갈 수도, 같은 물속에 있기도 찜찜해서 안절부절 수영장 한 귀퉁이에 가만히 붙어 있었다.  

그날 나는 그와 함께 목욕했다. 

The man in the pool

He looks like he came out of a trash heap—like he hasn’t taken a bath in his entire life. And today, this middle-aged man is wandering around the park. Except during the bitter cold of winter, he’s always wearing shorts—or more like just boxer shorts. Two little dogs, tied together with a string as long as his arms, walk closely behind him, matching their steps.

He lives about ten blocks from our house. He used to have a crumbling home, and there was a woman—maybe his wife or girlfriend. One day, the house was torn down, and the woman left. Since then, he has lived inside an old, broken-down car on the lot where the house used to be.

Even that lot is now half its original size. He lost the rest to the city of New York because he couldn’t pay property taxes. One half is now an empty mess, surrounded by a wire fence, and he lives on the other side. The fence is covered with all kinds of hanging clothes and other items. There’s no bathroom or kitchen, so he placed a table and chairs out on the sidewalk, turning it into his living room and kitchen.

After my morning walk, I often see him spreading something on a round piece of bread, eating with great focus. On his table are fruits, bread, bottles of water, and various spice containers. These bottles are so dusty from passing cars that it’s hard to tell what they are. Pigeons are always flapping around the table, pecking at leftover food. After eating, he sits in a rocking chair, sunbathing, reading a book like a poor philosopher. I often wonder: Does he even bathe? And if so, where?

The YMCA swimming pool in Greenpoint, Brooklyn is about the size of a small neighborhood bathhouse in Seoul. One day, I was quietly enjoying a solo swim when—believe it or not—this man, wearing the same underwear he always wears on the street, stepped into the pool.

He couldn’t swim. He thrashed around, trying hard to do it—flailing his arms, kicking hard, crawling through the water. The tiny pool turned into a chaotic splash zone. A lifeguard, clearly fed up, said, “Calm down, man.” But the guy kept begging him to teach him how to swim, trying out different moves, going back and forth in the water, making a scene.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t want to be in the same water either. So I just stayed quietly in a corner of the pool, uneasy and unsure. That day, I took a bath with him.