8
Over the next few years, my head grew bigger, but my almonds stayed the same. The more complex relationships got, the more diversions I encountered that hadn’t been covered by Mom’s equations, and the more that happened, the more I became a target. By the first day of the new school year, I had already been marked as the weird kid. I was called out to the playground and made fun of in front of everyone. Kids often asked me strange questions, and I answered straightforwardly, not knowing how to lie or why they were laughing so hard. Without meaning to, I stabbed a dagger into Mom’s heart every day.
But she never gave up.
“Don’t stand out. That’s all you need to do.”
Which meant I couldn’t let them find out that I was different. If I did, I would stand out, which would make me a target. But learning rules as basic as move-aside-when-a-car-closes-in was no longer enough. It was now time to master exceptional acting skills to hide my abnormality. Mom was like a playwright and never tired of using her imagination to come up with different situations. Now I needed to read the true meanings behind words, as well as memorize the proper intentions behind my responses.
For example, when kids showed me their new school supplies or toys and explained what they were, Mom said what they were really doing was “bragging.”
According to her, the correct answer was: “That’s awesome,” which implied “envy.”
When someone said positive things like I was handsome or I did a good job （of course, I had to memorize separately what “positive” statements were）， I should respond as follows: “Thank you,” or “It’s nothing.”
Mom said “Thank you” was the sensible answer and “It’s nothing” was more laid-back, which could make me look much cooler. Of course, I always chose the simpler answers.
9
Because of her poor handwriting, Mom printed out each hanja for happiness, anger, sadness, joy, love, hatred, and desire from the Internet on letter-size paper, one big character at a time. With a tsk-tsk sound, Granny scolded Mom that everything should be done with effort and care. Then she traced those letters big as if she were drawing pictures, even though she couldn’t read hanja at all. Mom took the letters from Granny and pasted them all over the house like family creeds or talismans.
Whenever I put on my shoes, the character for happiness smiled at me from above the shoe rack, and every time I opened the fridge, I had to see the character “love.” At bedtime, “joy” would look down at me from the head of the bed. The words were randomly placed around the house, but Mom superstitiously made sure the negative characters, such as the ones for anger, sadness, and hatred, were all pasted on the bathroom walls. As time passed and with damp bathroom air, the paper creased and the negative letters faded. So Granny would rewrite them regularly, eventually learning them by heart and polishing them in stylish calligraphy.
Mom also created a “human emotion game” where she would suggest a situation, and I’d have to guess what the related emotion should be. It went something like this: What are the correct emotions when someone gives you tasty food? The answers were “happiness” and “gratitude.” What are you supposed to feel when someone hurts you? The answer was “anger.”
One time I asked Mom what I should feel when somebody gave me bad food. The question caught her by surprise. She puzzled over it for a long time and responded that at first, I could feel “angry” at the bad taste （I remembered a couple times when Mom criticized a restaurant for its awful taste）。 But she said people could still feel “happy” or “grateful,” depending on their personality. （I also remembered that every time Mom complained, Granny would scold Mom to just appreciate having food at all）。
By the time my age hit double digits, there were more instances when Mom needed time to tell me how I should react or when her answers were vague. As if to suspend all additional questions, she told me to just memorize the basic concepts of the main emotions.
“You don’t need to get into the details, just nail the basics. At least it’ll make you seem like a ‘normal person,’ even if you might seem cold.”
To be honest, I couldn’t have cared less. Whether I was normal or not made little to no difference. To me, it was as subtle as the differences in the nuance of the words.
10
Thanks to Mom’s persistent efforts and my mandatory daily training, I slowly learned to get along at school without too much trouble. By the time I was in fourth grade, I had managed to blend in, making Mom’s dream come true. Most of the time, it was enough to stay silent. I had discovered that if I kept quiet when I was expected to get angry, it made me look patient. If I kept silent when I was supposed to laugh, it made me look more serious. And if I kept silent when I was expected to cry, it made me look strong. Silence was definitely golden. I still habitually said, “Thank you” and “I’m sorry.” They were the magic words that helped me get through most tricky situations. That was the easy part. As easy as being handed a thousand won and giving back a couple hundred won in change.