When is being used okay?

My work colleague Woon-gil bought me dinner last night at a Chinese restaurant, as thanks for editing his application to a theological seminary in the States last month. My dinner only cost about $5, and he joked that he'd have to buy me another dinner, as he owed me more than that.

Since Woon-gil helped me out during the summer by meeting with me three times a week during lunch to practice Korean, I would normally say that we're pretty much even. But. That doesn't take into consideration the annoyance factor. Because not only did he ask me to edit his application essays (2 of them, twice), he also emailed me his wife's statement and a cover letter to look over, as well as a couple preliminary messages he sent to the school before actually applying.

In addition, at dinner last night, he also brought a U.S. Justice Department form (statement of sponsorship) that he couldn't quite figure out one part of, as well as a two page letter to the school outlining his financial situation. I edited it silently over hot chocolate, feeling ambushed.

The letter took about two minutes to edit. It's not about effort. It's about feeling used. And the thing is, I understand Woon-gil's situation: he doesn't know many fluent English speakers, and it's so little effort on my part, plus I've been blessed with so many advantages by just growing up in the States, that I must surely be willing to help out a fellow homelander. It's completely by chance that I have the highly desired skill (fluency in English) and that he doesn't. So why should I be irritated?

I'm not as irritated now as I am a bit sad about the situation. The problem with being an native English speaker here -- where a current social problem is the immigration of far too many young people out of the country to America, Canada and other English-speaking countries -- is that you never know whether your friends like you for you, or like you for your English. For the information you have, just by having grown up in the west. Woon-gil asked me whether he'd have to live in a rich neighborhood to ensure that his son gets a good education, whether he needed to worry about drugs in schools, whether his son would face prejudice because he's Asian, whether I thought his wife could get a job.

On my part, I have to admit that I might be more annoyed because of the Christian factor. Having to read two essays on the journey of faith my friend experienced is might be all fine and good with some people, but I have a bit of chip on my shoulder about proselytizing, as I've mentioned before here. In part, the same problem applies to my devout Christian friends -- I never know if they want to befriend me because they like me, or because they want to save my soul.

In any case... grr to ulterior motives.
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Christmas in August is the name of the movie we are watching in video class. It's a Love Story type of storyline, but with a Korean flavor, which means that the protagonist and the girl never even hug, much less get all lovey dovey like Ryan O'Neal and Ally McGraw. Also? The protagonist never even tells the girl that he's dying, and it's unclear in the end whether she ever finds out.

Despite the frustration of the non-communication, the movie (actually, a TV miniseries) moved me. Forgive me for ruining it for you, but there is a scene when an old woman comes to the hero's photo studio and has him take her funeral photo. (I went to my uncle's funeral in June, and in my description of it, I wrote about the greeting room, where my uncle's photo was surrounded by flowers, food, and candles -- typical Korean funeral custom.)

At the end, the hero sits down alone in his studio, buttons his coat, sets the timer on his camera, and, just before the camera clicks, smiles slightly for his own funeral picture. He's young -- in his thirties, and has one of the undefined mortal diseases that strike TV drama protagonists.

Something about that last-second smile got to me, and tonight I was thinking about it as my dad drove me home from taekwondo. I thought about my dad, who is now in his 50s, whose life is more than half over, and for the first time thought in concrete detail about how it will be to have no more father on this earth. I thought about how terribly, terribly sad I will be, because I really like my dad, and have enjoyed living with him here more than I ever thought I could.

Buddhism, while logical and soothing on many levels, doesn't offer a happy happy joy joy life after death scenario. There's no hanging around on clouds peeking down periodically at your loved ones to smile benevolently at them. Thinking about loved ones dying tonight, the Christian concept of heaven looked pretty attractive. I'm not ruling it out yet.