The sweet world

The height to grow up from a young age is not grow, why do hair and nails grow so fast even when old?

Going to the beauty salon is troublesome and difficult. When I visited often and treated each other with a sense of comfort, the hairdresser suddenly left. I am tired to think that I have to go through another process of finding new places and re-establishing relationships with strangers. The hardest thing in life is human relation. If my hair is not cut well, it grows up again, so it is not big deal. But if I don't have smooth words and moods with stranger who close to me and touch a part of my body, my hairs literally rise.

Since I was a child, I didn't want anyone to look at me, I didn't want to people come near me, I didn't want the hands of adults who touched my body. My mom always cut my hair in a bob-type. I cried and rumbled because I didn't like my haircut that my mom cut.

Maybe I got punishment for being mean to her. I became a barber at home after got married. Fortunately, my husband has curly hair, so can't see it even if I cut it wrong. I also cut the children's hair, but I told them to go to a barbershop after they became adults. It is because young men need to be left to a skilled hairdresser to look more handsome. But they have been tamed by the habit of cutting hair at home, so their hair cut by their friends.

I changed the set of haircuts several times. I cut like a skilled barber. At first, I roughly cut with a hair cutter and cut hair with a pair of scissors with an experienced hand. It's not that bad.

From not long ago, I haven't been to beauty parlor. After I cut my husband's hair, he takes a shower and cut my hair like my mother. Cutting hair is easier compared to having a friend's husband dye friend's hair. I thank my husband even if he doesn't cut well because my bad temper doesn't work for him.

After I cut hair and take a shower, I get tired and lie down. Suddenly want to eat Sujebi while thinking that I was bad for my mom. Strangely, after cutting hair I want to eat Sujebi. The couple who do not have the money to go to the beauty salon seems to be in harmony with Sujebi who ate in poor times because they had no money to cut their hair and eat out. Bean sprouts rice is also plausible.

After eating sujebi we take a walk in the park. We are happy even if not to cut our hair in the beauty salon.  We are happy even if we eat homemade sujebi. The sky is high, the trees are dense, and the road is endlessly before me. We walk through the sweet world.

쥐 잡는 남자

전시회 오픈잉에서 8명의 오랜 지인들을 만났다. 연말이다. 그냥 헤어지기 섭섭했다. 다들 멀뚱멀뚱 서로의 얼굴을 쳐다보며 헤어지기 싫다는 표정들이다. 어쩌겠는가. 장소를 옮겨 우리의 이야기는 이어졌다.

8명 중 6명은 브루클린에 있는 프랫 대학을 나왔다. 나를 포함해서 다른 한 명은 그 당시 프랫 대학을 방문하고는 주변이 하도 위험해서 다른 학교를 선택했다. 공부고 뭐고 일단 살고 봐야 할 것 같았다.

어쩌다 우리들의 이야기는 70년대 말에서 80년대 초로 거슬러 올라갔다. 프렛 대학 근처 머틀과 윌로비 에비뉴에서 강도당한 이야기였다. 지금은 고색창연한 브라운스톤 건물들이 즐비한 안전한 동네가 되었지만, 그 당시만 해도 택시 운전사도 가지 않을 정도로 험악했다. 대낮에도 너나 할 것 없이 강도를 당했다.

한 지인은 The twilight zone, A stop at Willoughby 호러 영화를 본 후 윌로비 에비뉴가 더욱더 무서워 자신을 보호해줄 남자가 필요해서 서둘러 결혼했단다. 또 다른 지인은 훤한 대낮에 불한당한테 가방을 빼앗긴 후 방학 때 서울에 가서 뉴욕으로 다시 가지 않겠다고 했을 정도였다.

프렛 대학을 나오지 않은 나야 할 말이 없어 조용히 있다가 

“아니 강도도 없어졌지만, 그 많던 쥐와 바퀴벌레가 다 어디로 간 거야.” 

“없기는 새벽에 맨해튼 길바닥에 팔뚝만 한 쥐가 다니는데. 그만큼 우리가 모두 어려운 시절을 벗어나 좋은 곳에서 살기 때문이지.”

예전엔 스튜디오에 돌아와 불을 켜면 바퀴벌레들이 부리나케 숨는 것을 보고 놀라곤 했었다. 그릇을 일일이 지퍼백에 넣었다가 꺼내서 사용했던 지인도 있다. 생선 굽는 냄새를 참지 못하고 수시로 나오는 생쥐를 보고 의자 위에 올라가 소리를 질러 됐다. 난 쥐를 강도 만큼이나 끔찍이 싫어한다. 아무래도 쥐 잡아줄 남자가 있어야 그나마 견딜 수 있겠다 싶어 쥐 잘 잡을 만한 남자와 결혼했다.

내 남편은 쥐를 잘 잡는다. 쥐틀에 노란 치즈 조각 위에 참기름 한 방울 떨어트리면 새끼손가락만 한 쥐들이 줄줄이 걸려든다. 간혹 비틀대는 놈은 뒤뜰에다 거름도 할 겸 묻어버린다. 옆집과의 벽 틈바구니에서 떨어지는 어린 참새의 주검과 함께 뒤 뜰의 흙은 더욱 윤기를 띤다.

날강도 때문에 그리고 쥐 잡는 남자가 필요해서 조건 따지지 않고 결혼했지만, 지금은 쥐 없고 눈알 굴리는 불한당이 드문 곳에서 다들 잘 산다. 밤새워 수다를 떨어도 끝이 나지 않을 것 같은 수많은 어려운 시절 사연이 가슴 밑바닥에서 올라오는 것을 누르고 지인들의 사연에 빠져들었다.

A rat catching man

At the opening of the exhibition, I met 8 old friends.It was the end of  the year, and it felt sad to say goodbye so soon. Everyone stood there, just looking at each other, not ready to leave. So we moved to another place to keep talking.

Six of the eight friends had graduated from Pratt Institute in Brooklyn.

Another friend and I had visited Pratt, but we chose different schools because the neighborhood felt too dangerous back then. We thought, “Forget school—let’s just survive first.”

Our stories went back to the late 1970s and early 1980s. We started talking about getting mugged near Myrtle and Willoughby Avenues, close to Pratt. Now the area is full of beautiful old brownstone houses and feels safe, but back then, even taxi drivers didn’t want to go there.

People got robbed—even in the middle of the day.

One friend said she watched a horror movie called The Twilight Zone: A Stop at Willoughby. After that, she was so scared of Willoughby Avenue that she rushed to get married—she felt like she needed a man to protect her. Another friend was robbed in broad daylight. She was so shocked that she flew to Seoul for vacation and said she never wanted to come back to New York.

Since I didn’t go to Pratt, I didn’t have much to say, so I stayed quiet.

But then I joked,

“Okay, fine, there are no more robbers… but where did all the rats and cockroaches go?”

“They’re still around! I saw a rat the size of a human arm in Manhattan the other day.”

“It's just that now, we’re all living in better places than before.”

Back then, if I turned on the lights in my studio, cockroaches would run and hide everywhere. One friend said she had to keep all her dishes in ziplock bags. I said I would scream and jump on a chair whenever a mouse came out, especially if I was cooking fish. I hated mice as much as I hated robbers. So I thought, “I need a man who can catch mice.”

And I married someone who could.

My husband is really good at catching mice. He puts a small piece of yellow cheese on a trap, adds one drop of sesame oil, and soon we catch mouse after mouse. If a mouse is still moving, he buries it in the backyard, along with small dead birds that fall between the wall and our neighbor’s house. The soil back there is now very rich and healthy.

We didn’t marry him for love or looks—but because men could fight off rats and street criminals. Now, life is good. There are no more rats, and we don’t see many shady people anymore. We all live well now.

Even though we laughed a lot, I could feel those hard memories rising deep from our hearts. We had been through a lot. We talked and talked, and it felt like the stories would never end.

오지랖은 이제 그만

“부부 사이가 좋은가 봐.” 

오프닝에서 선배가 나에게 물었다. 

“좋기는요, 그냥 의리와 책임감으로 사는 거지요. 잘살아 보겠다고 새벽부터 애쓰는 것 보면 안 돼서 측은지심도 들고.” 

“그게 사랑이지.” 

나를 애지중지하던 엄마가 돌아가신 후 난 시어머니를 엄마라고 생각하기로 했다. 그런데 착각이었다. 우리 엄마는 약한 내가 아플까 봐 자는 나를 깨우지 않고 보약을 철마다 먹였다. 시어머니는 보약은커녕, 너는 왜 이렇게 약하니? 왜 잠이 많냐? 며 따듯한 LA에 가서 애들 풀어 놓고 누어 자빠져 자는 내 꼴을 못마땅해하셨다. 본인이 워낙에 건강하시고 평상시에 쉬지 않고 일하셔서 내가 꾀를 부린다고 생각하신 건지? 사랑까지는 아니어도 ‘없는 살림 꾸려나가느라 힘이든 모양이다.라는 시어머니의 측은지심은 없었다.

난 잠을 충분히 자지 않으면 아프다. 피곤하면 이석증으로 머리가 빙빙 돌고 소화를 시키지 못하다 여러 날 앓는다. 그래서 남의 집에 가서 잠을 자지 못한다. 여행 가서도 일찍 잠자리에 든다.

나를 무척 예뻐하시던 아버지가 돌아가신 후 난 남편에게 아버지가 나에게 해줬던 것을 기대했다. 다행히도 남편은 자는 나를 깨우지는 않는다. 아파 빌빌대느니 푹 자게 놔둔다. 아버지만큼은 아니지만 자기와 사느라 고생했다는 동정심은 있는지 내 성질을 건드리지 않으려고 애쓴다.

여자 동생이 싱글일 때, 나는 동생이 잘 지내고 있나? 사귀는 남자와는 잘 돼 가는지 궁금해하며 걱정을 많이 했다. 그러나 결혼 후 멋지고 능력 있는 남편 만나 딸 하나 낳고 잘 사는 것을 보니 더는 신경 쓰지 않는다. 남자 동생은 워낙에 여자 형제들보다 월등히 잘 사니 더욱 신경 쓸 일이 없다. 한동안 나는 엄마의 정을 언니에게서 느끼려고 했는지 뒤늦게 미국에 온 언니와 가깝게 지내려고 애썼다. 그러다 어느 날 가만히 생각해 보니 언니에게는 그 누구보다 믿고 의지하는 하나님이 항상 함께하는데 내가 왜?  그동안 언니 일에 참견한 것이 언니를 위하는 것이 아니고 오히려 힘들게 했다는 것을 깨달았다. 언니에게 미안하다.

아버지 살아계실 때는 문제가 생길 때마다 툭하면 서울에 전화해서 자문했다. 아버지가 늘 현명한 조언을 해주셔서 살기가 수월했다. 조언을 구하다 가끔은 이 사람 저 사람에 대해 투덜대면 

“네 걱정이나 해라. 너나 잘 살아.”

라고 다독거리셨는데 돌아가신 후 아버지 말씀을 잊고 오지랖을 떨었다. 

타인에 대한 관심이 지나치다 오지랖으로 이어져 주위 사람들 기분을 상하게 해서 핀잔만 들었다. 남을 위한답시고 오지랖 떨어서 나에게 이득이 된 것이 과연 무엇인가? 여기저기 기웃거리며 오지랖 떨 시간에 조신하게 남편에게나 잘해야지. 새해부터는.

No more meddling in other people's business.

“Your marriage must be going well,”

a senior colleague said to me. I answered.

“It’s not that great, we live together more out of duty and loyalty. But I feel sorry for my husband when I see him working hard from early morning to support family.”

“That’s love,” the senior said.

After my loving mother passed away, I decided to think of my mother-in-law as my own mother. But that was a mistake. My mom never woke me up when I was sleeping. She worried I might get sick because I was weak. She gave me herbal medicine regularly to keep me healthy.

But my mother-in-law? She never gave me anything like that. Instead, she would say,

“Why are you so weak? Why do you sleep so much?”

She didn’t like how I would rest while the kids played outside. Maybe because she was always healthy and never stopped working, she thought I was just being lazy. Even if she didn’t love me, she could have at least felt sorry for me, struggling to run a household with little money. But she didn’t.

If I don’t get enough sleep, I get sick. When I’m tired, I get dizzy from vertigo and can’t digest food well. I stay sick for several days. That’s why I can’t sleep  wellat other people’s houses and always go to bed early when I travel.

After my dear father passed away, I started to expect from my husband what my father used to give me.

Thankfully, my husband doesn’t wake me up either. He’d rather let me sleep well than see me sick. He’s not as gentle as my dad was, but he does try not to upset me. Maybe he feels a little sorry that I’ve gone through so much being married to him.

When my younger sister was single, I worried about her a lot—if she was doing okay, if her relationship was going well. But now, she’s married to a great and capable husband and has a daughter. She’s living well, so I don’t worry anymore. My younger brother is doing even better than all the sisters, so there’s no need to worry about him either.

For a while, I tried to feel my mom’s love through my older sister, who came to the U.S. later in life. I made a lot of effort to grow close to her.

But one day, I realized something: My sister already has someone she trusts more than anyone—God. Why was I trying to fill that space?

Looking back, I now see that my involvement in her life wasn’t helpful. It might have made things harder for her. I feel sorry for that.

When my father was alive, I used to call him in Seoul whenever I had a problem. He always gave me wise advice, which made life easier.

Sometimes, I would complain to him about people, and he would say,

“Worry about yourself. Just live your life well.”

But after he passed away, I forgot his words and got too involved in others’ lives.

I’ve come to realize that being too interested in others can become nosiness. It annoyed people and brought me nothing good. What have I gained by interfering in other people’s lives? Instead of poking around here and there, I should just stay calm and be kind to my husband.

Starting this new year, that’s what I’ll do.

선인장 이야기

나는 선인장을 무척 좋아한다. 30년 넘게 내 곁을 지키는 선인장이 있다. 나와 함께 창문을 내다보고 음악 듣고 내가 춤을 추는 모습을 물끄러미 바라보고 있다는 느낌이 들 정도다.

새끼손가락만 한 것이 쓰레기 더미에서 나를 데려가 달라고 빼꼼히 내다보는 것을 지나쳤다가 뒤돌아가서 주워 창가에 놓았다. 하얀 꽃을 피우며 아기 선인장도 낳아 나를 기쁘게 한다. 나는 그저 쌀뜨물을 가끔 줄 뿐이다. 자꾸 커져 휘어지는 것이 안쓰러워 실로 벽에 묶어도 주고 화분도 갈아줬다.

나의 선인장 사랑을 누군가가 엿보다가 안쓰러웠는지 가는 철사로 만든 꽤 오래되고 앙증맞은 신생아 요람을 산책 길가에 버렸길래 주어왔다. 그곳으로 옮겨 넣다가 그만 아기 선인장 두 개가 잘려 나갔다. ‘미안. 아프게 해서.’ 낑낑거리며 옮기고 더는 건드리지 않는다. 바퀴 달린 것이 햇빛 잘 드는 곳으로 옮기기도 수월하다. 선인장은 창가를 내다보며 아기가 웅크리고 자는 듯 조용하다.

친구가 손바닥 길이만 한 선인장을 십여 년 전에 줬다. 이 선인장은 휘지 않고 위로만 뻗는다. 어찌나 빠르게 자라는지 천정에 닿았다. 남편은 이러다 천장을 뚫겠다고 버리자고 했다. 

"밤새 새살을 내밀고 아침에 나를 반기는 살아있는 것을 어찌 버려. 그럴 수 없어."

남편은 드디어 잘라서 버린다며 가위를 들었다. 나는 식칼과 가위로 쳐내는 선인장을 차마 쳐다볼 수가 없었다. 다른 방에 가서 ‘미안하다 선인장아. 정말 미안해.’ 하며 웅얼거렸다.

갑자기 남편이 침 삼키기가 힘들다며 나를 불렀다. 

“왜 그러는데? 무슨 일이야?” 

들여다보지 않고 소리쳤다. 남편 왈, 가지를 자를 때마다 그 옛날 이차돈의 목에서 흘러나왔다는 하얀 피 같은 즙이 끊임없이 흘러나오길래 호기심에 맛을 봤단다. 

"아니 이놈의 선인장이 감히 내 남편에게."

나는 달려 나왔다. 남편 얼굴이 벌겋다 

“괜찮아? 왜 쓸데없이 선인장을 죽이면서 즙(피)을 먹냐고. 선인장이 독을 품을 수밖에. 어떻게 해?” 

다음 날 아침 남편의 얼굴은 헐크처럼 변했다. 눈꺼풀이 큰 눈을 덮고 양 볼은 툭 튀어나오고 얼굴은 시뻘겋다. 구글에 찾아봤다. 먹으면 죽는 독 선인장이 많았다. 죽으려면 접시 물에도 빠져 죽는다더니 고놈의 선인장이 사람 잡을뻔했다. 가시가 있어서 가까이하기에 좀 그렇지 항상 나를 반기며 기다리는 착한 것인 줄 알았더니 독을 품고 지금까지 내 곁에서....

사랑하는 철사 요람 속에 있는 선인장에게 쌀뜨물을 주며 말한다. 

“너도 독을 품고 있는 거야? 너 스스로가 죽기 전, 나 살아생전에 너는 죽이지 않을 테니 잘 지내자.”  

알아들었는지 방긋 웃는 듯한 화사한 모습이다. 사람이나 동물이나 그리고 식물이나 괴롭히면 독을 품는 것은 당연하겠지? 포트리의 한의사님이 식물에 독이 많으니 익혀 먹으라던 한마디가 생각났다.

Cactus story

I really love cacti. There’s one that has been with me for over 30 years. Sometimes, it feels like it’s quietly watching me—looking out the window with me, listening to music, and even watching me dance.

It was once no bigger than my pinky finger. I saw it peeking out from a pile of trash, as if asking me to take it home. At first, I walked past it, but then turned back, picked it up, and placed it by my window.
It has bloomed white flowers and even had baby cacti, which always brings me joy. All I do is give it some leftover rice water now and then. As it grew larger and started to bend, I tied it to the wall with thread and changed its pot to support it better.

One day, maybe someone noticed my love for this cactus. They had thrown out a small, old-fashioned baby cradle made of thin wire on the side of the street. It was so cute—I picked it up. While moving the cactus into the cradle, I accidentally broke off two baby cacti.
“I’m so sorry for hurting you,” I whispered. I carefully placed it in the cradle and haven’t touched it since.
The cradle has wheels, so it’s easy to move into the sunlight. Now it sits quietly by the window, like a baby sleeping peacefully.

About ten years ago, a friend gave me another cactus, about the size of my hand. This one doesn’t bend—it grows straight up, and fast. It grew so tall that it finally touched the ceiling. My husband said, “At this rate, it’s going to break through the roof. Let’s just throw it away.” But I said, “How can we throw it away? It greets me every morning with fresh new growth—it’s alive!” Still, my husband brought out scissors, ready to cut it. I couldn’t bear to watch. I went to another room and whispered, “I’m sorry, cactus. I’m really sorry.”

Suddenly, my husband called out, saying it was hard to swallow.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” I shouted from the other room. He said that while cutting the cactus, white sap started flowing out—like the legendary white blood from the neck of Ichadon (an ancient Korean figure). Out of curiosity, he tasted it. “What?! That cactus dared hurt my husband?!” I rushed out. His face was red. “Are you okay? Why would you taste the sap while killing the poor cactus? Of course, it’s poisonous! What are we going to do?”

The next morning, his face looked like the Hulk. His eyelids were so swollen they covered his eyes, his cheeks puffed out, and his whole face was bright red. I searched Google. Many cacti are poisonous if eaten. They say someone determined to die could drown even in a spoonful of water—but this cactus almost really killed someone. I thought it was a kind, gentle plant, always greeting me with joy despite its sharp spines. But now I realize—it had been holding poison all along, right next to me…

As I poured rice water into the cradle for my beloved cactus, I said,
“Do you have poison inside you too?
As long as I live, I won’t hurt you. So let’s live peacefully together, okay?” Maybe it understood—its flowers looked bright and happy, as if smiling.

People, animals, even plants… maybe it’s natural to carry poison when you’re hurt. I remembered what a Korean doctor in Fort Lee once said: “Many plants are toxic—you should always cook them before eating.”