Grandmothers and boiled eggs

My grandmother came up to me as I was sitting on the floor, wrapping some stuff to mail tomorrow. "Your dad said that you decided to go back to America," she said.

"Mm hm," I replied, preoccupied with trying to tape a too-small piece of wrapping paper around the package going to my aunt and uncle.

"But if you go back to America, I'll be sad."

I stopped struggling with the uncooperative paper and looked up at her. She got a haircut today, after going to the bathhouse, and she looked younger than her 80 years. Much younger. But her customary good-natured grin was missing, and I felt all of a sudden how hard it will be to leave.

"Don't worry," I said cheerfully. "I'll visit."

"Well, if you could that would be good, but in America you'll get caught up with work and school," she said.

I couldn't challenge the truth of that. Summers working at a law firm or a government office or a nonprofit. Other vacations taken up with friends and immediate family. Living as a student again, with no money to travel as far as Korea.

"Don't worry," I said again. "I have to come back to eat your cooking. This isn't the last time I'll visit."

She smiled and said good night.

I haven't mentioned, except in passing, how strangely nice it is to live with my grandmother and great-aunt. The perks are obvious -- hot meals three times a day, laundry service, ready advice about how to get anywhere in Seoul. Once in a while I get annoyed about being asked if I've eaten, why I'm not eating whatever is currently being offered, what I had for lunch and where, and if I'm going to be back early that day, but to my utter surprise, I like living with two old relatives.

Of course, it's no small help that they are both healthy, amazingly good natured, keep themselves busy, and don't care if I stay up all night. And stupendous cooks. But all this was true of my grandmother when I came to Korea 16 months ago, when I used to get tremendously annoyed by her, even when she visited the apartment. Somewhere along the line, I stopped being annoyed and actually started liking her and her sister.

I know I'm a bit more patient than I used to be. Is that it? And of course I can actually communicate with them fairly well about quotidien details; that makes a world of difference. And I understand and accept Korean culture a lot more.

Whatever it is, I'm so glad to be living with them and my dad. My grandmother at times feels her age, I know, and her recent back surgery has slowed her down even more. But despite this, she's never in a bitter or resentful mood. She can be bossy and intrusive, but nowadays I can usually see that for what it is: concern and interest. And love.

Many months ago, when I still got irritated a lot by her, my grandmother asked me how long I thought I'd stay in Korea. I said I didn't know. She paused before continuing: "Well, if you were to find a nice husband here and work and live in Korea, that would make me happy." At the time, I internally scoffed, "That'll be the day! Dream on, sister!" Today, I still think I wouldn't live in Korea, but I definitely wouldn't be such a little prat in my internal reply. It makes me sad too, to think about not living here with them.
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In writing class today we learned about simile and metaphor construction in Korean and learned some common ones. Some are the same in the west: eyes like stars, lips like cherries, hair like silk, wet as a (drowned) rat. Some are different: skin like white jade instead of porcelain, legs as thick as a radish (Korean radishes are very big and round), waist as thin as an ant's instead of a wasp.

One of the old traditional sayings goes like this: her voice is like jade marbles rolling on a silver tray. (Translation: very smooth, pretty voice.)

It's always delightful to hear the different sayings from various countries. In China, if you get drenched, you'll be compared to a wet chicken (a rather pitiful image, we all agreed), and if you have perfect skin, you'll likely hear that it's like tofu. (Nearly as strange as saying it's like butter. Or rather, buttah.) But the best simile we heard during class came from Japan, where a woman with a beautiful complexion may hear that she's got skin like a boiled egg.
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Omidog.

This was totally not planned, but look at the entry from Monday, January 27, 2003. I swear, I did not plan this -- I just remembered that I had complained about my grandmother being annoying somewhere on this blog and went looking for it.

Coincidence? Yeah, of the spooky Rod Serling-narrated variety.

Wild!