In front of a memorial service table

“Mother, I think I should be the one to hold the memorial rites now.”
“Oh, that would be so wonderful!”
My mother-in-law, who had sounded weak from illness, suddenly raised her voice in joy.

Seven years ago, my husband’s older brother’s wife passed away unexpectedly at a young age. A few months ago, he remarried. We couldn’t expect the new wife to take on the ancestral rites. My youngest sister-in-law, who lives near my parents-in-law, had already been taking care of all the memorials—for my husband’s grandmother, his father, and even his late brother’s wife. It was a lot of work.

“It’s hard work. Just hold a simple memorial for your father-in-law on the Lunar New Year and Chuseok with the foods he liked.”
“I’ll do it only while I’m alive. I won’t pass this down to the kids.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
“And when the time comes, I’ll also do the memorial for you.”
“No need. When I’m gone, don’t bother with anything.”

I looked up how to prepare a memorial table online. But if I followed all the traditional formalities, I knew I’d give up after a few tries. So I decided to stick with what my mother-in-law said: just use the foods my father-in-law liked.

He had worked with the U.S. military since the Korean War, using the English he learned in his youth. He lived inside the U.S. 8th Army base and came home only once a week. After serving in Vietnam, he worked abroad in places like New Zealand, Miami, Australia, Papua New Guinea, and more. In the early 1970s, he brought his family to L.A. as immigrants, but he continued working in Alaska until retirement.

Because of his long life overseas, he didn’t enjoy traditional Korean food. He wouldn’t touch strong-flavored dishes like fermented seafood or heavily seasoned food. Instead, he loved black coffee from McDonald’s, red wine, and simple frozen meals from the supermarket. But he really loved Korean pears.

On the morning of the memorial day, my husband and I went jogging and then stopped at McDonald’s to get black coffee for the table. We added the red wine, pears, and frozen food we had prepared the day before. It was a true Seoul–New York fusion memorial table.

I thought we’d have a quiet moment with our kids, remembering their grandfather over this simple spread. But—well...

As I placed the carefully made dumpling soup on the table, my husband frowned.
“No vegetables? No pancakes? No fish?”
He started listing all the traditional Korean foods he wanted but didn’t see, clearly upset.

Now I understood why he was so happy when I offered to take over the memorials.
“You said we should keep it simple with the foods your father liked.”
“Still, this is too much of a shortcut.”
“Well then, why don’t you prepare everything the traditional way—write the spirit tablet, cook the full course, and follow all the rituals properly? You just want to bow a few times and start eating.”
“Shhh, quiet. Don’t fight in front of the table. Your father’s spirit might turn around and leave without even tasting anything!”

술 한잔의 넋두리

“마누라 이러다 알코올 중독되겠어!” “중독 아니라니까!” “한 달 만 끊어보자.” “삶의 낙이 저녁에 와인 한잔 마시는 건데 그것도 마시지 말고 무슨 낙으로 살라고~”

오래전, 파리에서 살다 온 선배 왈 ‘흰 포도주는 중독 기가 있으니 조심하고 붉은 것은 혈액순화에 좋다.’라는 이야기를 듣고 가격이 저렴한 캘리포니아산 포도주를 저녁때 한두 잔씩 매일 마셨다. 

술 없는 저녁상을 생각하니 반찬 만들 의욕이 나지 않았다. 된장 뚝배기를 턱 하니 올려놓고 둘 다 말이 없다. 음식 씹는 소리와 수저로 그릇 치는 소리만 난다. 남편이 후다닥 먹고 빈 그릇을 들고 일어났다. 본인 그릇만 씻고 거실로 가서 TV를 튼다. 혼자 남아 먹다 보니 밥맛이 영 아니다. 설거지할 기운도 없다. 육체 노동자들이 술기운에 일한다고 나도 술기운에 집안 뒷정리를 말끔히 하곤 했다. 대충 치우고 침대에 누워 책을 읽다 일찍 잠들었다.

 “날씨도 쌀쌀한데 오늘 저녁엔 오징어 볶음에 와인 한잔 어때?” “좋지!” 남편은 신이 나서 채소와 오징어를 왁에 들들 볶으며 되지도 않는 중국말로 “니하우마~. 쎄쎄.”를 외친다. 뭘 그리할 얘기가 많은지 한 얘기 또 하고 또 한다. 수도 없이 한 얘기를 처음 듣는 양 신이 나서 잔을 주거니 받거니 밥상에서 일어날 기미가 없었는데…

비가 주룩주룩 처량하게 와서 한잔, 눈 속에 묻혀 옛 생각 하며 한잔, 기분이 좋아 한잔, 치사해서 한잔, 매일 술 먹을 명분이 많아 마시고 또 마신 세월이었다. 오랜 세월 하던 짓을 멈추니 돌던 톱니바퀴가 멈춘 듯 조용하고 막막하다. 저녁에 사람들이 드라마 연속극을 기대하며 발걸음을 재촉해 집에 오듯 저녁상에 술 한잔의 기다림이 있었다. 술 없는 허전함을 어찌 다 표현하리오!   

“부부간에 오래 살면 권태기가 있다는 데 우리한테는 있는 거야? 없는 거야?” “바빠 죽겠는데 권태기는 무슨 다들 한가한 사람들 이야기지.” 하며 자만했던 그 권태기라는 것이 이런 건가? 술을 끊자마자 오는 듯했다. 둘 다 말이 없다. 싸우기가 무섭게 저녁상에서 술친구를 해야 하니 부부싸움 없이 살았는데 뭔가 풀리지 않는 무거운 감정이 차곡차곡 쌓이는 기분이다. “부부 사이가 좋아 보여요?” 사람들이 말하면 고개를 끄덕이며 자신 있게 시인하곤 했었다. 그 좋은 부부 사이가 지금까지 술기운이었다니!

어제 오프닝에 가서 오랜만에 와인을 서너 잔 급하게 들이켜니 몸이 말미잘처럼 흐늘흐늘해졌다. 남편 팔짱을 끼며 “아무래도 안 되겠어. 우리 사이는 술이 필요한 사이야.” “어! 나도 그렇게 생각했는데.” “도로 마시자. 하루에 딱 한 잔씩만 마시면 안 될까?” “그럼 약속해.” 

예술가가 아니라 애술가여도 좋다. 

A whine of drink

“My dear, if you keep drinking like this, you’ll become an alcoholic!”

“I’m not addicted!”

“Let’s try stopping for just one month.”

“My only joy in life is drinking a glass of wine in the evening. If I can’t even do that, what do I have to enjoy?”

A long time ago, a senior who lived in Paris told me,

“White wine can be addictive, so be careful. But red wine is good for your blood.”

So I started drinking one or two glasses of cheap California wine every evening.

Thinking of dinner without wine made me lose the will to cook. I just put a pot of soybean paste stew (된장찌개) on the table. Neither of us said a word. Only the sound of chewing and clinking dishes filled the room. My husband quickly finished eating, got up with his empty bowl, washed only his own dishes, and went to the living room to watch TV.

Left alone at the table, the food tasted bland. I didn’t even have the energy to wash the dishes.

Just like how labor workers get their energy from alcohol, I also used to clean the house well when I was a bit tipsy. I just cleaned up quickly, lay in bed, read a book, and fell asleep early.

“The weather is chilly. How about spicy stir-fried squid and a glass of wine tonight?”

“Sounds good!”

My husband got excited, stir-frying squid and vegetables while jokingly saying silly Chinese words like “Ni hao ma~ Xie xie.” He talked nonstop, repeating the same stories again and again like he was telling them for the first time. We kept pouring wine for each other and had no intention of leaving the dinner table...

I drank when it rained sadly, when I remembered the past in the snow, when I felt good, when I felt upset. There were so many reasons to drink — and so I drank again and again for years. Now, stopping what I did for so long, it feels like a machine has stopped turning. It’s quiet and empty. Just like how people rush home to watch their favorite drama, I looked forward to one glass of wine at dinner. How can I explain this emptiness without wine?

“People say couples feel bored after many years. Do you think we have that too?”

“I’m too busy to feel bored. That’s just what lazy people say.”

We used to feel confident that we weren’t one of those couples. But maybe this is what boredom feels like — and it came the moment we stopped drinking. Now, we don’t talk much. Before, we didn’t fight because we had to drink together at dinner. But now, I feel heavy emotions slowly building inside.

When people used to say,

“You and your husband look like a happy couple,”

I nodded proudly and agreed. But now I realize — maybe our happy relationship was helped by alcohol!

Yesterday, I went to an art opening and quickly drank three or four glasses of wine. My body felt soft like jelly. Holding onto my husband’s arm, I said,

“This won’t work. I think we need wine to be close.”

“Oh! I was thinking the same thing.”

“Let’s drink again. Just one glass a day, okay?”

“Then promise me.”

We may not be an artist, but we are a alcohol lover.

아버지의 여자들

“내가 만나는 여자 친구다. 인사해라.” 

고개 숙여 인사하며 여자를 발끝부터 머리끝까지 훑었다. 아버지보다는 스물다섯 살 정도는 어린듯했다. 아버지에게 이미 여자가 있었다니! 엄마가 가신지 6개월도 채 안 됐는데.

"남편을 교통사고로 잃고 아이 넷을 키우며 고생하는 여자다. 착하고, 음식 솜씨 좋고, 뜨개질도 잘하고 재주가 많은 아주머니다. 네가 미국에서 나오는 줄 알고 네 스웨터를 벌써 만들어 놨다. 먹고 싶은 것이 있으며 다 말해 만들어 줄 거다.” 

침을 튀기며 열변을 토하며 흥분한 아버지를 생전 처음 봤다.

아버지와 아줌마 그리고 갓 결혼한 우리 부부 넷은 함께 여행을 떠났다. 속리산을 거쳐 안동을 지나 경주 불국사 그리고 백암온천까지. 돌아가신 엄마에게는 미안했지만 홀로 계신 아버지에게도 효도해야 하니 어쩌겠는가. 아버지가 하자는 대로 할 수밖에.

아줌마는 아버지와 15년 넘게 잘 지내며 내가 한국에 나갈 때마다 나에게도 잘했다. 그러던 어느 날 그녀가 잠적했다. 아버지가 남산을 오르다 다리를 다쳐 누웠기 때문이다. 누워 있는 아버지가 다시는 일어나지 못할 것으로 생각한 듯했다. 그러나 워낙 건강하신 아버지는 곧 완쾌되었다. 아줌마를 잊지 못하는 아버지가 안쓰러워 그녀의 거처를 수소문했다. 그녀를 알고 있다는 충청도에 있는 한 식당을 아버지와 함께 찾아가서 온종일 기다렸지만, 그녀는 끝내 나타나지 않았다.

“인사해라 내 걸프렌드다.” 

세련되고 참한 분을 또다시 소개했다. 아버지는 그동안 일본인 아줌마, 미국에서 살다 나간 아줌마도 사귀었다. 아마 내가 모르는 나보다 어린 아줌마도 있었을 것이다. 홀로 계신 아버지가 외롭지 않게 즐거운 여생을 보내실 수 있다면 난 누구든 다 좋았다.

몇 년이 흘러, 어느 날 밤중에 누가 문을 두들겨 내다보니 아버지를 버리고 떠난 아줌마가 엄청나게 뚱뚱한 모습으로 문 앞에 떡하니 서 있더란다. 아버지는 문 안으로 들어오려는 그녀를 제지하고 ‘맥도날드에 가서 기다리라’고 했단다. 부리나케 집안에 있는 돈을 다 챙겨 맥도날드로 나가니 아줌마는 ‘잘못했다’고 빌며 ‘다시 돌아오겠다’며 눈물짓더란다.

“한번 떠난 인연은 다시 이어질 수는 없다. 어디에서든 잘 살아라.”

챙겨간 돈을 주니 서럽게 울면서 가더란다. 뉴욕에 있는 나에게도 한밤중에 국제전화로 ‘아버지의 마음을 돌려 달라’며 하소연하기도 했다.

“아버지, 왜 아줌마들과 사귀기만 하고 결혼은 안 하세요. 결혼하세요.” 

“오십 넘은 여인네들 크고 작은 지병들이 있다. 내가 좀 편하기를 바라고 호적에 올렸다간 되레 그들 병시중 들게 된다. 내 생에 결혼은 한 번으로 충분하다. 그것이 네 엄마에 대한 최소한의 나의 예의다.”  

The women of my father's

“This is the woman I’m seeing. Say hello.”

I bowed my head in greeting and looked at the woman from head to toe. She seemed about 25 years younger than my father. I couldn’t believe he already had a woman in his life—Mom had been gone for less than six months.

“She lost her husband in a car accident and raised four kids on her own. She’s kind, a great cook, and good at knitting. She’s really talented. She already made a sweater for you when she heard you were coming from the U.S. If there's anything you want to eat, just tell her—she’ll make it for you.”

I had never seen my father so excited, speaking passionately with spit flying.

My father, the woman, and my husband and I—all four of us—went on a trip together. We passed through Songnisan, Andong, Bulguksa Temple in Gyeongju, and Baekam Hot Springs. I felt sorry toward my late mother, but my father was now alone, and I had to be a good son. I had no choice but to go along with what he wanted.

That woman stayed with my father for over 15 years and treated me kindly whenever I visited Korea. But one day, she disappeared. My father had hurt his leg while climbing Namsan and was bedridden. She must have thought he would never walk again. But my father, being strong and healthy, recovered quickly. He couldn’t forget her and searched for her. We found out she might be connected to a restaurant in Chungcheong Province, so we went there and waited the whole day—but she never showed up.

“Say hello—this is my new girlfriend.”
This time, it was a stylish and elegant lady. Over the years, my father had dated a Japanese woman, a woman who used to live in the U.S., and probably others I didn’t even know about—maybe even women younger than me. As long as he wasn’t lonely and could enjoy his later years, I didn’t care who he was with.

Years passed. Then one night, someone knocked on the door. It was the woman who had left him, now very overweight, standing at the doorstep. My father blocked her from coming in and told her to wait at McDonald’s. He quickly gathered all the money in the house and went to meet her. She tearfully apologized, saying she wanted to come back.

“Once a relationship ends, it can’t start again. Live well wherever you are,” he said.

He gave her the money, and she left, crying. She even called me in New York in the middle of the night, begging me to help change my father’s mind.

“Dad, why don’t you marry one of them? Just get married.”
“Women over fifty often have health issues. If I get married and put them on my family register, they’ll expect me to take care of them. I just want to live a peaceful life. One marriage in my lifetime is enough. That’s the least I can do to honor your mother.”

비둘기처럼 다정한…

‘콜록, 콜록콜록’ 밤새 기침하느라 잠을 설쳤다. 머리가 지끈거리고 몸이 무겁다. 어릴 때부터 편도선 때문에 항상 골골했다. 나이 드니 편도선도 있을 곳이 아니라며 내 몸을 떠났는데 찬 바람이 부는 겨울이 시작되면 거르지 않고 기침 감기가 온다. 

세끼를 집에서 해결하는 ‘삼식이’ 남편에게 밥상도 차려줘야 하는데 해소 기침 소리를 내며 누워 있다. 머리에 흰 끈만 질끈 매면 영락없는 시할머니 모습이다. 

돌아가신 친정엄마가 꿈속에서 내 손을 잡아끌며 어디론가 가자고 재촉했다. 눈을 뜨니 온몸이 땀에 흠뻑 젖었다. 죽음이 별거던가 이러다 죽는 거지. 히잡을 쓴 아랍 여인네 차림으로 온몸을 둘둘 휘감고 약을 사러 밖으로 나왔다. 다리가 후들거리고 뒤통수에서 파도가 밀려오는 듯 온몸을 뒤흔들어 눈앞이 어찔했다. 후줄근한 동네 카페에 앉아 핫초콜릿을 마셨다. 길 건너 양지바른 건물 지붕 끝에 줄지어 앉아 추위를 달래는 비둘기들이 내 모습처럼 처량하고 스산하다. 

서로 엉겨붙어 지나가는 젊고 건강한 남녀를 멍청히 쳐다봤다. 기분이 묘하다. 시대의 돌림병인 양 몇몇 남편 친구들은 늙은 마누라와 이혼하고 젊은 여자들과 재혼했다. 그런데 내 남편은 늙은 나와 사느라 얼마나 지루하고 힘들까? 더군다나 해소 기침을 연중행사로 들어가며 살아야 하니. 여자인 나도 한 남자와 평생을 사는 게 힘든데 표현하지 않아서지 아마 속으로는 골골 되는 마누라 팽개치고 싶을 것이다. 남편이 젊은 여자와 눈이 맞아 떠난다고 떼쓰면 어찌 막겠느냐마는.

젊고 예쁜 공주도 아닌 내가 남편이 약을 사다 줄 때까지 누워 있어야 하겠는가? 스스로 일어나 약을 사서 먹는 것이 당연하다. 약국을 향해 휘청거리며 걸었다. 평생을 붙어 다니던 편도선도 늙은 내가 싫다고 떠났는데 남편이 안 떠난다는 보장이 있을까? 

사는 게 참 치사하고 서글프다. 늙은 여자가 젊은 여자 당할 재간 없고, 못생긴 여자가 예쁜 여자를, 약한 여자가 건강한 여자를, 그렇고 그런 여자가 잘나가는 여자 당할 수 없는 세상 이치가 그러니 어쩌겠는가? 누구를 탓할 일이 아니다. 스스로 알아서 기어야지.

매운탕을 끓이고 가지나물에 김을 가지런히 썰어 밥상을 차렸다. 

“어찌 일어났어?” 

“이혼당하기 전에 정신 차려야지.” 

“이혼 같은 소리 하네.” 

남편이 내 밥을 듬뿍 퍼주며 

“많이 먹고 일어나야지.” 

“Thank 콜록 you~ 콜록콜록.”

Friendly as a dove

Cough, cough cough. I was up all night coughing and barely slept. My head was pounding, and my whole body felt heavy. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always been weak because of my tonsils. Now that I’m older, even the tonsils decided they didn’t want to stay with me anymore and left. But as soon as the cold winter wind starts blowing, I always come down with a coughing cold.

I still had to cook for my husband, who eats all three meals at home like clockwork. But there I was, lying down, coughing like I had whooping cough. If I just tied a white cloth around my head, I’d look exactly like an old village grandma.

In my dream, my late mother appeared and pulled my hand, urging me to follow her somewhere. I woke up drenched in sweat. So this is how it happens—death isn’t such a big deal after all. You just fade away like this.

I wrapped myself up from head to toe like an Arab woman in a hijab and dragged myself outside to buy medicine. My legs were shaking, and it felt like waves were crashing against the back of my head. My vision blurred as I stumbled forward. I sat down in a shabby neighborhood café and sipped a hot chocolate. Across the street, a row of pigeons huddled together on a sunny rooftop, looking just as miserable and cold as I felt.

I watched a young, healthy couple walk by, stuck together like glue. I just stared blankly at them. It gave me a strange feeling. Some of my husband’s friends, as if it were a trend of the times, have divorced their aging wives and remarried younger women. And I thought: how bored and tired my husband must be, living with an aging wife like me. On top of that, he has to hear me coughing all year round. Even for me, living with one man my whole life hasn’t been easy. I don’t say it out loud, but deep down, maybe he wants to leave me too, tired of his sickly wife. 

If he ever falls for a younger woman and insists on leaving, what could I really do to stop him? I’m not some young and pretty princess. Do I really have the right to lie in bed and wait for him to bring me medicine? No. It’s only right that I get up and take care of myself. So I stumbled off to the pharmacy.

Even my tonsils, which stuck with me all my life, left me because they were tired of my old body. What guarantee is there that my husband won’t do the same? Life feels so unfair and bitter sometimes. An older woman can’t beat a younger one. An unattractive woman can’t beat a pretty one.  A weak woman can’t beat a healthy one. An average woman can’t beat a successful one. That’s just how the world works. There’s no one to blame. You just have to figure out how to crawl on your own.

I made spicy fish stew, neatly sliced some steamed eggplant, and laid out the dinner table.
“You got up?” my husband asked.
“I figured I’d better pull myself together before you divorce me,” I said.
“What nonsense are you talking about?”
He scooped a big bowl of rice for me and said,
“Eat up and get better soon.”
“Thank cough you~ cough cough,” I replied.