I forgot to mention yesterday that because of this teacher-bribing/gifting custom, I finally understand why my parents got presents for my teachers when I was a kid. Not the teachers at school so much, but my music and other extracurric teachers.

I feel like I do understand the weirdnessess of my parents much more now that I've lived here for (gasp!) 7 months (already!). For example, I understand why my mother gets all het up about me "falling behind" my classmates in terms of graduate education and professional progress, why she has made ominous statements like, "You don't think you mind now, but you will. I know you." (Yes, but where did I learn to think of myself in comparison with others? That's right -- "From you! I learned it from you, okay!")

The reason is embedded in the social and school system here, which puts so much emphasis on the brother/sisterhood of same-age (dong-gap). One of the first things you find out about a person is their age, because if you're the same age, you can use the casual form of speech and all that that implies. You're like siblings. You instantly become friends. It's a given that you go to reunions for college, high school, and even elementary school -- a coworker recently went to a reunion for her 6th grade class.

So no wonder my mother gets a little freaky about my friends graduating from graduate schools. I get it. And someday, I might even have patience for her freakiness about it.

I also understand, after seeing countless TV drama episodes, that passive aggressive, non-demonstrative mothering is par for the course in Korean society. Well, let me specify -- passive aggressive, non-demonstrating of love is par for the course, for adult children. Koreans dote on little kids, to the extent that they are quite undisciplined (more on this in a future entry). But when it comes to grown-up kids, the stereotypical mother tends to emote on two channels -- waspish anger and weepy guilt-tripping.

"Here. Here's a bag of money for your marriage, which I don't approve of, to a man I will hate forever with all my heart. Yes, you're tearing my heart out and ripping it to shreds, but here is a bag of gold that I have been secretly gathering in the 25 years since you were born, denying myself of food and drink every other day, so that I could give it to you when you got married. I thought it would be a happy day, but even though it's the second worst day of my life -- right after the day my own cherished mother, whom I never even dreamed of disobeying, died -- I give it to you, because you'll need it to marry that good-for-nothing man whom I am sure I saw entering a brothel last week. But never mind that. Did I mention that I sold my blood every Saturday for 30 years in order get this money?"

The Korean daughter sees through this amazing display of guilt-tripping prowess, and gives her mother a hug.

"Oh, what's this all about, anyway?" the mother continues, starting to weep. "My little daughter, throwing her life away, oh, oh, how I weep for your future unhappiness with this man!"

And there was much weeping on both parts.

If you've got the cultural Cliff notes, or the author's introduction, or the commentary on this scene, you understand that the mother is really full of love for the daughter. She's really just terrified that the daughter might be unhappy some day, and wants nothing more than to protect her from any kind of pain. It's amazing, really, how this is expressed.

For us KAs, it's hard when we don't have the notes. Growing up in the U.S., where everyone is supposed to say what they mean and mean what they say, it's easy to get the sense that our mothers are unloving psychos. Not to say that American-born/raised mothers aren't capable of such guilt-tripping powers. But really, Korean mothers practice it as an art. In their free time. There are classes. Workshops! You get a booklet in the hospital.

It seems funny above (at least, that was my goal), but it was hard when I didn't have the notes. Even now that I'm starting to learn the code, it's still hard to have patience, to not feel hurt or bewildered. I have to trust that it'll come later.