Kimchi Mamas

My cousin and me

“What happened to you?  You were supposed to become someone amazing: some kind of a great success!  Look at you, you are just a mom and a housewife.  Why?” my cousin asked me about six or seven years ago.

“I’m working on my graduate degree and I’ve been writing.”  I replied, feeling defensive.

“Everyone used to talk about how smart you are.  They all said you were going to be very successful someday.  You used to be brilliant.”

“Everyone said that?” I asked surprised.

“Yeah.  But you didn’t do anything special with your life.  You became nothing.”

I was hurt, to say the least, but I dismissed it as one of my cousin’s brash moments.  What I would remember later, and what I didn’t think to say to her at that moment, was that when we were kids, I was also being told by my mother and other family members about all of my cousin’s great accomplishments and how creative and amazing she was.

My cousin and I have always had a kind of bond, almost like sisters.  We played like sisters and fought like sisters.

I am thinking now that the fights and the competition between us were orchestrated by the adults in our lives.

My mother used to show my cousin’s published poems to me and explain to me how amazing she was to get published in Korean papers at such a young age. After a few years of hearing about her poems getting published, I entered a nationwide songwriting contest and won fifth place.  My mom was proud of me and hung the little flag where everyone could see.  But still I never got published in any papers, and I knew that I had failed my mother.

I recently reconnected with my cousin after a few years of not speaking to each other after an argument.  I had said some very harsh things to her, and I know that I hurt her feelings.    

When we reconnected a few months back, I first told myself that she is the same person, and that I could not trust her.  But last night when I spoke with her, I sensed a more grown and mature woman who is actively working on herself and focusing on doing things for others.  She is adopting her nephews since her brother is not doing so well financially.  He is an artist and is struggling to make it.

She and I had a wonderful heart to heart, and we carried it through to this morning in text.  I for the first time felt really connected to her, and felt thankful to have a cousin who is more like my sister.

After I had texted with her, I began to realize the impact our family had created in our lives. I think that our families saw two bright and talented girls full of personalities and energy.  I think that they assumed that if we were competitive with one another that it would cause us to realize our full potentials.

My cousin did become, and continues to become, something special.  She fell in love with an American businessman that she met through her work.  She married him and came to America.  She then divorced him after a few years of what felt like abuse, and at one point became completely broke.  She worked at shops as a seamstress and took classes at the local colleges to improve her English.  She then took an intern position with a large clothing company and now, after a few decades, she is a buyer and quality controller for that  company, traveling all over the place and making herself a very respectable salary.   She married a man more than a decade younger and has created a family life for herself and is happy.

I cannot blame our families for trying to get the best out of my cousin and me, but it did affect our relationship in a negative way.  We antagonized each other, never really knowing why.  We at times resented each other, and so we followed a pattern of being friendly, and splitting apart at our individual offenses, before coming together again and repeating the pattern.

I wonder what would have happened to our relationship if our elders had not induced a competitive relationship between us? I wonder if she and I might have even manifested something wonderful together, a successful enterprise of some kind?  Food for thought for people raising siblings, aunts, uncles and other family members out there.

- Nancy 

Teaching me to live

My mum and me before my parents' divorce.

Today’s post is about mothers.   Well…my mother to be exact.  We’ve had a rocky relationship.  You see, she didn’t raise me and when I say she didn’t raise me I mean that I can count on my hand (just one hand, not both) how many times I saw her as a child after my parents divorced.  When I was 13, I boarded a plane to visit her in New York City.  I remember the excitement and fear that I felt; excitement at seeing her again and in a new big city that I had never visited before but also fear.  Would she know me?  Would I know her?  Would we get along?  Would she like me? 

That last one was so important to me.  Already I was the butt of many jokes at school.  I was bullied by the other children to the point that every night I’d cry myself to sleep and wish that I was somebody, anybody but me.  I was convinced that I was unlikeable.  I mean what else could possibly cause the other children to torment me relentlessly.  It mattered to me that my own mother might see something in me that she liked.  As I stepped off the plane, it was with a big sigh of relief that I instantly spotted her, recognized her despite the 6 years that had passed since I last saw her.  I approached her with trepidation but hope and then she said it.  The first words out of her mouth after not seeing her daughter for 6 years.  “You’re fat.” 

You’re fat.  Fat.  Fat.  Fat.  I couldn’t tell you much about my trip, because I don’t really remember that much.  But her first words I remember vividly because they cut me to my core.  The idea that the first thing my mother would see about me was the fat on my body was the confirmation I needed that I was indeed unlikeable.  Nothing else mattered because I was fat. 

Over the years, I’ve pushed those feelings deep down inside me.  They are still there but I’ve learned that it’s not socially acceptable to express true self-hatred; that nobody really wants to hear about how broken you really are.   In this society we seem to encourage self-degradation, fat talk is pretty prevalent, but nobody really wants to listen to the pain, the gut-wrenching sadness that comes from not loving ourselves. 

There were more trips and visits with mom and before each one I would steel myself for her insults and the criticism, the incessant criticisms.  It didn’t seem that I could do anything right.  It didn’t matter how hard I worked in school; it didn’t matter that I was compassionate and kind; it didn’t matter that I tried hard to be a good person and mother.  Nothing was good enough.

Between visits, I found myself avoiding her phone calls, waiting months to call her back.  It wasn’t that I was trying to punish her for her cruelty; it was just that I didn’t have the energy to pursue a relationship with someone who clearly didn’t seem to think there was anything redeemable about me.

The last time she came for a visit was in 2010, when my daughter was 2.

Last month she visited.  My sister had just delivered her baby and mom flew out to stay with her for three weeks.  Three weeks is a long time to visit.  If things had gone smoothly, mother would have stayed at my sister’s the entire time.  But things didn’t go smoothly and she ended up at my apartment.  And there we were again.  Mother and daughter.  We sat around and watched my daughter play.  At first, I thought I could escape her critical eye; she was so focused on other matters.  I was deluding myself.  Within two days, the criticisms started. 

I didn’t pick after myself or my family quickly enough.  I had too much garbage and junk in my home.  I didn’t wipe down counters or bathtubs after use.  I didn’t use a liner in the bathroom trashcan.  I let my daughter leave out her dinosaur toys for one too many nights in a row.  I wasn’t thin enough.   None of these were unforgiveable or huge crimes but the constant nit-picking was exhausting.  I nodded my head not even attempting to defend myself.  Yes, Momma.  Yes, Momma.   I know, Momma.  I’ll try harder, Momma. 

Every once in a while she would stop and just look at me.  I have no idea what she was thinking.  Perhaps she was annoyed that I was so agreeable.  Perhaps she thought I was ignoring her.  Perhaps she was in a fighting mood and wanted me to argue with her.  Perhaps she was wondering how her own daughter could be so unlike her.  It is pointless though to try to delve into somebody else’s mind; it’s hard enough to get in our own heads. 

And then one day she said something that shifted something for me.  She was in the middle of criticizing me for some infraction.  I can’t remember what it was.  I was nodding my head; I was tired.   I almost missed that her tone had changed. 

“Robin, I didn’t go to school; I don’t know about school, books, learning.  I know how to live, that is all I know.  I know how to live.  I didn’t raise you.  This is all I can do.  I can teach you how to live.  Teach you how to make life easier.”

I won’t pretend that our relationship dramatically changed over these few words, but I will say that suddenly I understood something that I had never understood before.  As much as her criticisms hurt, they have never been about me.  They are words from a mother who never raised her daughters, who doesn’t know how to relate to them beyond “helping” them.  In her mind, she is not criticizing as much as she is trying to impart wisdom.   It’s the only way she knows how to be a mother.

From her most recent visit, my daughter misses her already and wants her to come back.  This means so much to me.  I want them to have the relationship my mother and I never had.

I tried to remember her words for the rest of the visit.  I held onto them when she would nit-pick about my weight, my parenting, and my housekeeping skills.  I listened intently.  I asked her to come back to teach me to make Kimchi.  She smiled and agreed that the next time she visited we would get a jar and she would show me.  And then she left.  My house was quiet again or as quiet as it can be with a 5 year old child living in it.  The next day when she called, I felt the familiar urge to ignore her phone call, but I made an effort to pick up the phone.  And when she called again the next day, I picked up the phone again.  My mom is never going to change.  I cannot undue the past or the fact that her criticisms still sting.  All I can do is remember her words.  She wants to teach me to live so my life is easier.  I may not like the way the message is delivered but the message is still one of love, the only love my mother knows how to give.  She just wants my life to be easier.  I can live with that.  

Robin

"An Overlooked School Shooting..." One Year Later

Did anyone else hear the NPR "Talk of the Nation"  "around the nation" segment about the Oikos University shooting? It aired earlier today: An Overlooked School Shooting and the Korean American Community.

It was a very short interview with Jay Kang, but I'm glad it was done at all. Mr. Kang spoke of "han", the idea of "The Korean Dad", and the stereotyping of Korean Americans and shootings.

I am curious to continue the conversation... I am curious to hear your thoughts and especially the thoughts of our fellow Kimchi Mamas who live in the SF/Oakland area.  Were there any memorials? Articles in your local paper(s)?

What was your reaction when this happened? How do you feel about it now? And how do you feel about it now within the context of the Virginia Tech shootings 5 years ago this month? And within the context of the Newtown Massacre?

How do you think this affected the Korea/Korean American community locally? Nationally? 

How do you think culture played a part?

 

(Angie in Texas)

*I purposely did not use the names of the shooters in any the events.

 

Kimchi Mama Shares Her "KoreanAmericanStory"

Our own Shinyung Oh shares her story on MyKoreanAmericanStory.Org.  Here's the link: Shinyung. 

We are truly lucky to have her here with us!

THANK YOU Shinyung for sharing your stories with us!

 

 

 

 

The Software Doesn't Match the Hardware

As a parent of a ‘tween I found myself at the mall with my daughter the other day. It was right after school and she was still in her all-girls school uniform.

As we walked by one of the kiosks, a young man stopped her and asked if she went to ABC Private School – he recognized the uniform as the uniform of his all-boys high school alma mater’s sister school. He was indeed correct – except my daughter is in the sister school’s middle school. 

Maybe it’s the “Asians don’t look their age” stereotype or maybe it’s because she was in uniform or maybe because she’s tall for her age but as she said yes and I gave my best KDS (Korean Death Stare) to this young man and gently guided her down the hall, I had a mix of remembering the feelings of being mistaken as older at that age and what it may mean for my daughter..and me as her mom.

With the faster-than-the-speed-of-light economic growth in China, and young people flooding in from rural areas to the bustling cities in search of jobs and opportunities, a saying has developed about this group of new-to-the-city young women: The software doesn’t match the hardware. Kind of creepy when you think about it. Here’s a young woman in search of opportunity and she has been reduced to an electronic, a cliché, because she’s attractive but innocent/naïve.

We here in the United States are guilty of perpetuating some of that concept, too. Look around: magazine covers, tv shows, music . . . Have you tried shopping for “cute” girl clothes recently? Listened to the actual lyrics of some popular songs. Next time you’re at the grocery store take the time to glance over the covers of magazines specifically designed for your teen!

My fellow moms and I complain about the lack of appropriate clothing, the pressures our girls face to wear make-up, shave their legs and have first dates/first kisses, etc. And because many of these concepts were foreign to my mother, the "right" way to navigate through them are in many ways foreign to me.

Do you remember the first time you were mistaken as being older than you really were (as a 'tween/teen)?

 

Angie in Texas is practicing her KDS for all future boys...

 

Call for Submissions at KoreanAmericanStory.org

Do you or your family members have stories to share for an anthology devoted to the Korean immigrant experience in the 70's and 80's?  If so, please consider submitting it for publication at KoreanAmericanStory.org.  They are collecting content in a variety of formats, and they will compensate for the stories they select for publication.

Details can be found here.

--Julie

Houston, We Have a Problem...and a Confession

To my beloved Kimchi Mamas,

Please do me and our community a favor by reading this short article on self-harm and violence in the Korean American community

I know this seems like a big bummer to post this during the holiday season, but 'tis also the season for a spike in suicides, suicide attempts, and domestic violence.

Does this ring a bell for you at all?  It definitely did for me:

Grace Yoon, executive director of the Korean American Family Service Center in New York, told The Huffington Post that Koreans come to America with high hopes of acquiring wealth and providing a good education for their children. When their expectations are not met, some feel like they have let their families down. Yoon commented that the problem has gotten worse since the recession, "especially with Korean fathers and heads of households whose small businesses are not doing well."

The article goes on to say that the intergenerational language barrier as well as the cultural taboo against seeking mental health services may contribute to the higher-than-average suicide rate in Korean Americans.

---------------------------------------------------------

If this helps anyone at all, I'll just put myself out there as someone who did try to kill herself when she was in the throes of what she now recognizes as a major depressive episode.  

I was 21, feeling exhausted and beaten down, not doing well in school, but instead of seeking help, I just ignored my health and soldiered on, terrified of delaying my graduation by yet another quarter or year.  It got to the point where I stopped talking to my friends and stopped checking in with my parents, unable to keep up the lies when I claimed I was okay.  As I got more and more insular, my whole world consisted of my classes and my inability to attend them, my lack of focus, my inevitable failure.  So a few days before my first finals, hating myself for letting my parents down, they who worked so hard and sacrificed so much so that I could go to a top-notch school, and I couldn't even repay them with simply succeeding, I tried to take my own life.  I honestly thought I was doing them a favor, relieving a burden.

I was so, so lucky that my attempt was feeble at best, and my roommate was in the apartment.

After that, I was hospitalized for a week.  For some reason, I had this stereotype against psychiatry and didn't consider it a fully-valid field of medicine.  I could not have been more wrong.  Thanks to the medication, counseling, and support I received then and afterwards, I finally graduated from university.  My grade point average was barely enough to scrape past, and my department might or might not have overlooked a single missing requirement, but I did it.  And my life instantly became easier once I stepped foot outside that damn campus and moved on with my life.

Did I at 21 have even the tiniest correct inkling about how life after college would be like?  Absolutely not!  My instincts and intuition that I relied on so heavily turned out to be completely off; I think it was because I was completely biased to see only the negative.  That's what depression does; it skews your outlook on everything to just remember the negative and completely ignore the positive, and that small shift in perspective is what makes depression so dangerous.  It was actually quite a relief to discover that my "lenses" were off and needed readjusting.  

The turning point for me was my dad tearfully telling me that he would rather have a non-college-graduate daughter than no daughter at all.  That he would have let me crash at home for as long as I needed in order to get back on my feet again.  And that he was truly sorry that it had to come to this for him to tell me that, that this was completely uncharted territory for him, that we would get through this together.  My mom was too overcome with emotion to speak to me then, but as time went on, I came to realize that she felt the same way.  And believe me when I tell you that my parents made the Tiger Mom look like a kitten; that I was pushed very hard all my childhood; and if you had asked me before all this if I truly believed they loved me, I would have a hearty laugh at the mere notion.

But it turned out that my Korean parents, as stoic and strict and cruel and physically punitive as they were, were still parents.  And now they are very demonstrative, nurturing, giving, loving grandparents.  

And now, daily I think to myself, "I'm so relieved I'm not dead.  All the fun I would have missed out on!"

---------------------------------------------------------

If you at any point feel as hopeless as I did that summer, please know that you aren't "crazy," that you are struggling alongside countless others, that there are other solutions besides death, that people love you and are rooting for you, that honest-to-goodness there is light at the end of the tunnel.  Or at the very least, there are enough points of light inside the tunnel to make it worth sticking around to observe.  DO NOT MISS OUT ON THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

Call a friend and tell them you need help, call 1-800-273-8255, go to the emergency room, connect with people online, just don't leave yourself alone with the thoughts you are thinking, the same way you would try to save your friend who is trapped in a house with someone who is trying to kill them.

---------------------------------------------------------

If you got this far, thanks so much for reading.  This was difficult to write.

--Julie

Best of the Worst

What's the worst thing your mom or dad has ever said to you?

My dad told me yesterday that he shows his love to me by yelling at me. Um... no thank you please?

Do your parents show you how much they love you by criticizing you too?

Here are some of the best of the worst things I've heard over the years:

• If you're not going to teach your children Korean, don't even bother bringing them to see me.
• Your sister does ____ , why don't YOU do ____?
• You are less than an animal.
• &^%#$% you &@^%#$^!!!

So, let me hear them girls (and boys). What's the worst thing your mom or dad has ever said to you? I know the Koreans can dish out some mean words.

- Mary

Monday laughs

This was too funny not to share:

There once was a girl named Mary. One semester in high school she got all A's. Except... one A was actually an A-. (It was probably P.E.) Mary was excited to show her report card to her dad. Her dad took one look and said, what's that? Is that a minus?

Even Glee confirmed it. An A- is the Asian F.

Happy Thanksgiving week ya'll. Don't forget kimchi with that turkey!

- Mary

Teaching Kids Korean - how to resolve different opinions?

I have not and am not planning to teach my kids a lot of Korean. I am not ruling it out. If they have interest, I am happy to teach them in the future or enroll them in Korean school. You know, the dreaded Saturday classes?

BUT, I am having some internal struggles on how to reply when my parents or my MIL ask about this subject. They want my children to know Korean. Especially my dad and mom since they don't speak a lick of English. My MIL, even though she lives in Korea, actually has learned English a bit and can converse decently, so she has not yet been insistant on requesting that her grandsons know Korean but I feel the question coming in the near future.

I don't see my parents or talk to them often, so that kind of helps... but it seems like almost every time I do see my dad, one of the things he says is, "You should teach your kids Korean." My response so far has been either 1. no response or 2. the docile "neh" meaning something like "yes" or "sure."