The hard part was when I had to hand someone a thousand won first. That is, to express what I wanted and what I liked. It was hard because to do it, I’d need extra energy. It was like paying first when there was nothing I wanted to buy and when I had no idea what anything cost. It was as overwhelming as trying to make big waves on a serene lake.
For example, if I happened to look at a Choco-Pie I didn’t actually want, I had to force myself to say, “That looks good.” And then ask, “Can I have one?” with a smile. Or, if somebody bumped into me or broke a promise, I had to shoot back, “How could you do this to me!” Then cry and clench my fists.
Those were the hardest tasks for me. I would rather not have been involved in them at all. But if I seemed too calm, like a serene lake, Mom said I could also be labeled as a weirdo. She added that I should act out these emotions once in a while.
“Human beings are a product of their education, after all. You can do it.”
Mom said everything was for my sake, calling it love. But to me, it seemed more like we were doing this out of her own desperation not to have a child that was different. Love, according to Mom’s actions, was nothing more than nagging about every little thing, with teary eyes, about how one should act such and such in this and that situation. If that was love, I’d rather neither give nor receive any. But of course, I didn’t say that out loud. That was all thanks to one of Mom’s codes of conduct—Too much honesty hurts others—which I had memorized over and over so that it was stuck in my brain.
11
To use Granny’s own words, I was more “on the same wavelength” with her than with Mom. Actually, Mom and Granny didn’t share any similar physical or personality traits. They didn’t even like the same things—aside from the fact they both loved plum-flavored candy.
Granny said that when Mom was little, the first thing Mom ever stole at a store was a piece of plum-flavored candy. Right after Granny said, “The first,” Mom quickly shouted, “and the last!” and Granny simply added with a chuckle, “Good thing she stopped at stealing candy.”
The two had a special reason for loving the plum candy. Because it has both sweet and blood taste. The candy was white with a mysterious sheen and a red stripe across its surface. Rolling it inside their mouths was one of their precious little joys. The red stripe would often cut their tongues as it melted away first.
“I know this sounds funny, but the salty blood taste actually goes well with the sweetness,” Granny would say with a wide smile, a bag of plum candies in her arms, while Mom looked for ointment. It’s strange, but I was never bored with anything Granny said, no matter how many times I heard her say it.
*
Granny came into my life out of nowhere. Before Mom became tired of life on her own and reached out for help, they hadn’t talked for nearly seven years. Their sole reason for cutting family ties was because of someone not in the family, who later became my dad.
Granny lost Grandpa to cancer when she was pregnant with Mom. From then on, she had dedicated her life to making sure her daughter wouldn’t be picked on for being a fatherless child. She basically sacrificed herself for Mom. Fortunately, Mom—though not exceptional—did pretty well in school and made it to one of the women’s universities in Seoul. All these years Granny had worked hard to raise her precious child, only to have her fall for some punk （that’s what she called Dad） who sold accessories at a street stall in front of her college. The punk declared his eternal love to Mom, putting a ring （quite possibly from his cheap accessory stand） on her finger. Granny vowed that the marriage would take place over her dead body, to which Mom retorted that love is not for some nobody to sign off on for approval. Mom got a slap on the cheek as a result.
“If you disapprove so much I might as well get pregnant!” Mom threatened. Exactly one month after, she made good on that threat. “If you have the baby, you’ll never see me again.” Granny gave Mom an ultimatum, and Mom left home, making it real. That was how they cut their ties, or so they thought.
I’ve never seen Dad in person. I’ve only seen him in photos a few times. When I was still in my mom’s womb, a drunk motorbike rider crashed into Dad’s accessories stand. Dad died instantly, leaving behind his cheap, colorful accessories. It became even more difficult for Mom to reach out to Granny. After leaving for love, she didn’t want to come back bringing all her misfortune into the house. And so seven years passed. During those years, Mom tried to get by and held out until she realized all this enduring was no use. Until the very brink of a breakdown. Until she finally realized she couldn’t bear it—bear me—on her own anymore.