The BET

So on Sunday, my parents took me, Sharon, Patrick and Mia to a japanese restaurant in Daehak-no. It's a good place, if you're ever out in Seoul and in need of a hearty japanese meal. My dad is a regular here, and so he proceeded to order among many tasty dishes, what he deemed his favorite, fried chicken. For those of you who have experienced Baden Baden, or bonchon chicken in the NY area, it's a similar feel, but BETTER. So he ordered one dish too many of this chicken and we ended up with leftovers. Dad wanted to get them wrapped up and then take them home to eat, but we all objected: would he really want to eat fried chicken, the day after? Would he even remember to eat it again? He insisted--I can admire my dad for this, since he never likes to see food go to waste--and even though the restaurant policy was that they couldn't really allow for take out bags, they still wrapped the three pieces of chicken in foil for him.



Just for size reference...the package in relation to a grapefruit.


In jest (but not really) I proposed a bet:
"Hey Dad, I bet you 20 bucks that you won't eat that chicken."

"NAOOOO..... ehee." My father shot me a look that said, 'don't start with me.'

"Come on dad."

"Joanna." Fine. I knew he wouldn't really eat it the next day, but he was bent on taking it home, so much so, that after the waitress had brought the package back to him, he picked up the bill and left. Sharon called after him, "Dr RO! aren't you going to take your chicken?"

And I said to Patrick, "I already won the bet...."

Flash forward to today. This morning, as we were getting ready to leave for Chejudo, my mom was cleaning out the fridge and noticed a foil package. "Uh, eegheh moh yah? What is this?" AHHA! It was the untouched chicken.

Laughing, I turned to my dad, and said, "I won the bet TWICE!"
To which he responded, "Bring it here."
NO, he didn't eat it. WHO WANTS TWO-DAY OLD Fried chicken?

The pride. the pride of the korean man....

So I figured I would try to collect sayings that my parents have said--they are well known for their 'unique' phrasings:

But today, my father asked a close family friend (who works for the govt. and has certain security clearances): So, ____, can you tell me some confidential information today?
"uh..." (uncomfortable pause and laugh, with abrupt topic change)

and then later at dinner...

"I bot! I bot today for obama!--" ( my mother emphatically exclaims)
"err, you mean, you VOTED for Obama?"

and then my father proceeded to say the same thing TWICE...while mentioning to my mother,"Your words are contagious."

classic.

Kinda Blue...

So it started to snow again today, after a two-day run of 40-50 degree weather. Those fluke days from even my time in Michigan, some random day in February when the bleakness of a monotonously grey-smeared sky was suddenly sliced through with a huge blue blot of promise and light, and everyone seemed to crawl out of any rendering of a crevice, crack or opening and sprawl out to bask in the long awaited streak of warmth. So hot, in comparison to the days prior, that you could see the condensation evaporate off the blades of permafrost grass and soil, the bricks that lined the quad expanded and released vapors of that paralyzing cold. Almost like that exhale you take in exhausted relief, because when you might have just about lost hope--there it came, to save you from what would have been a grief-ridden sigh.

And it's hard to explain--this snow. On the first day of March, the start of the spring, or at least, that inbetween month that somehow can't seem to make up its mind--so in frustration, lets down the white ice, but gently and firmly. There's no way to escape it. and there's no way to embrace it either, except. On a day like today, it just seems fitting, to feel the release of nature on itself...to see the extremes act in harmony.

Today, I've begun to realize how much I have struggled with myself, and how small it seems to be, in lieu of all that I have struggle to confront, to acknowledge, to own, about my life. I think I still take it upon myself more harshly that with all my good intentions, I still could not have written one more letter to my grandmother, or made one more phone call to my grandfather, or spent one more hour with George. And it's selfish, I know, but whether it would have been for my own sanity, for my own feelings of integrity, I think ultimately, I sense that I have missed out on one more opportunity to be taught, to have learned, to perhaps have grown up a little more by way of the experiences, words, and presence of those I have loved and respected.

So then it is with a heavy heart still, that I realize how much love takes time. That love requires so much more of the giving. and how much I lack the ability to love. To love my relatives, to love my students, to love myself...and at times, I believe I can't be loved as a result. Don't get me wrong, it's not a plea for pity...but if anything, I guess, I'm trying really hard to believe that I can truly live out the following words of Theodore Roosevelt: "Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."

And in trying to understand the circumstances of my life, this is where I am. I am mystified by the secrets and unheard stories of my family, of even the tidbits that I am now beginning to hear and see about my colleague. And I am eager for spring to come, so that I can finally play a round of golf with the golf team for George.

It's supposed to snow all throughout tonight into the morning tomorrow. But it's okay. It'll be beautiful and quiet, and just the way it should be.