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Korean Mother: The Dialogue“Uhm-ma! It’s too cold!” I yell as I slam the door.“Put on clothes!” she yells back at me from the piano.“What do you
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I’m wearing?!”Every winter we have this fight. She leaves the windows and doors open, even when it’sfifty degrees outside, which is cold to a native Californian. My mom has told me many timesthat in Korea you always need fresh air. This conversation falls back into the same pattern as Istate that she is not in Korea anymore.“You have to know that you have a Korean mom.”I know.There are so many other ways to describe my mom: old-fashioned, health-nut, anddownright crazy – but we both blame our miscommunication on the simple fact that she was born and raised Korean and I was not. My Dad is white, I mean really white; he was born andraised on a farm in Utah. I don’t look like my dad, but I don’t look like my mom either. I look and act like a white girl. Korean was never spoken in the house, though I know enough to be fedand loved were I to be homeless in Korea. Literally, I know how to say “hello,” “I’m hungry,”and “I love you. I have however, become familiar with the noises that all Korean mothers make.There’s the “ai-goh,
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” the hissing noise of inhaling through her teeth when she’s mad at you; andof course, the occasional swear words that she never admits to using.I wouldn’t call my mom and I close; she doesn’t really know a lot about my personal life.Over the years, I have noticed that in our daily interactions the conversations usually fall into oneof several categories.
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It’s a blanket term for many situations that roughly translates to: “oh crap,” “oh my god,”“ouch,” “oops,” and “what the heck.” It also has a serious application for funerals, which mymother demonstrated for me by hitting my wall and wailing.
 
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ComplimentsEvery time I leave the house to go to school my mom insists that she open the gate for me(which always takes much longer than if I had just opened the gate myself), and she tells me I’m beautiful.“Bye Uhm-ma.”“Oh, Baby-ya, let me open the gate for you,” she says excitedly. Her slippers shuffle upquickly behind me, and she pushes past me – intent on opening the gate before I get to it.My mom explained to me once that when someone leaves or comes home in Korea theyare always accompanied or greeted by their family members. In the old days in America thismight have been appropriate. Her favorite memory of Grandma (my Dad’s mom) is when weleft her house, and she stood on the porch waving good-bye to us with a white handkerchief.Mom doesn’t see this in modern American culture, to which she accuses Americans of being barbaric.As a consequence, every time I or anyone else leaves the house, my mom goes outside towave until you leave – minus the white handkerchief.“Bye Baby-ya, you look so beautiful today.”“K, see you later.”I already don’t react well to compliments, so my reaction to that statement is usually ascoff or a rolling of the eyes. She’s my mom; she’s supposed to think I’m beautiful. But shetells me nearly every day, and nearly every day I don’t take it seriously.We also have an abundance of rose bushes in the driveway that we hardly take care of.My mom’s version of tending a garden is to drown them in water once a month. The rosessurprisingly bloom yearly, and in the spring my mom makes her favorite comparison:
 
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“Baby-ya. You are like this flower. It’s fully blossomed and is at the prime time of its beauty.”“Mom, there’s a bug in that flower.”“You know what I mean!”I’ll always be her baby, and beautiful in her eyes. But in my small slightly Asian eyes Idon’t see it yet.WarningsWhen I go out at night it’s a completely different dynamic.My mom walks me to the gate, tells me to be safe, and then there’s the pause before shemusters up this utterance as I’m walking away:“Be safe! Don’t get shot … DON’T GET PREGNANT!”Like I’m going to an orgy on Skid Row. Most of the time I’m going to Disneyland or shopping with my friends. Nothing that needs protection.However my mom is desperate for grandchildren, and since the family has deemed mysister having children akin to Hell freezing over, that burden has been placed on me. I use this tomy advantage during the “Don’t Get Shot” spiel.“What if I just moved out with a boy roommate Mom, what would you do?”“If you value having a relationship with your mom you won’t do that.”“Don’t you wanna be a grandma? I could make that happen.”“If you’re married you can do THAT every night! Don’t walk on the wild side!”As I continue walking to my car I count the seconds until she shouts the last warning. Normally it’s about two to three seconds until I hear:“NIGHT TIME IS EVIL TIME!”
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cubanprincess

cool check out my stories

reply04 / 21 / 2010
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