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What My familiy Likes

Soon my aunts called us into the living rooms for dinner. Ye-seul got the wooden mahogany colored fold out table from the storage room, and wiped it off with a rag. My aunts started setting all the food on it as everyone gathered around. So much food was on the table, it was great. I was truly grateful that Koreans were big eaters, because so was I. Various pan-chans, sort of like appetizers, but they’re eaten before and during the meal with the main dish. There are always a variety of them on the table with a meal, and they all range from kimchi to cooked seasons spinach. For all of you that don’t know Kimchi is a spicy pickled cabbage that Korean’s eat religiously from morning until night. That and soju, a bonafied Korean liquor. They all asked me if I was hungry, and I nodded my head eagerly. They mentioned that my mom had called to make sure they made all my favorite pan-chans. Fried scrambled seasoned egg, fried seasoned tofu, and cooked bean sprouts. The main dish was Kimchi-soup. While I don’t like kimchi, I do like Kimchi-soup. It mellows out the flavor and sourness of the kimchi. After traveling for so long, the soup was simply blissful. I observed my family. How my cousin Ye-seul kept her head down while she was eating, she ate more than anyone in the whole family, but to contest how healthy Korean food is, she isn’t a bit overweight. I also observed how my uncle, when he was done eating, sat behind my aunt and waited for her to finish eating. He sort of mocked her sitting position, almost in a protective way, and I realized that this was a subtle showing of affection that I often didn’t see in America. After the meal was finished, the table was wiped again and put in the storage room. Everyone went back to sitting on the hard wood floor on top of a blanket, while grandpa sat in a bright orange cushioned chair. The only piece of real furniture in the whole apartment. Sure, furniture was sold in Korea, but it wasn’t common for Koreans to buy a lot of it, that was an American custom. This chair was an indication of the little American things that Grandpa liked. I later learned that cushioned chairs weren’t the only things. He also like the big alarm clocks with the large red numbers on them, and Burger King Whoppers. On my first visit my American cousins and mother came with me. Grandpa told my mom that my cousin Steven missed American food and wanted a whopper, without consulting with Steven at all. Hence Grandpa’s antics for getting what he wanted. He told my aunt to make instant coffee. “Bianca!” He boomed, “You Daddy drink coffee after he eat?” “No,” I shook my head. “I like coffee after I eat,” He said. Just then all the kids started to file back into his bedroom again. I followed, and continued to watch TV.

First Supper

The white limited edition Kia Grand Carnival mini van pulled in to a parking lot of a tall apartment building. Grandpa’s apartment. I was a bit worried about how my family would receive me. This was my first time visiting Korea by myself, and for whatever reason I felt that it would be different. We took the elevator up six floors, and I opened the door to grandpa’s apartment. “Is she here?” I heard them say in Korean. They saw that I indeed had arrived and greeted me with loud exultations and hugs. I went to hug grandpa, the only one who didn’t stand up to greet me because of his age. In Korean culture that meant you came to him, not the other way around. I realized then that I was surround by my kind and loving family. All of them with smiles on their faces, there were a lot of them. My mom had three sisters, and one brother. My mom’s brother was the one who drove me there. He had two kids, Yu-Gyung and Gwaun-oo. My uncle was the youngest. My mother, the oldest. Her three sisters In-suk, Jin-Suk, and Mi-Suk were the middle siblings of the family. Yes, it is common for all the siblings in the family to have the same endings in their first name. I giggled a bit to myself the first time I heard all their names in order. All their cumulative kids large in number too, 7. Although one of my aunts lives in America, there were five kids around my age surrounding me all the time throughout my trip. After all the raucous settled down, they started to talk to me in Korean. I wasn’t quite fluent, so I gave them a blank look. I heard them say in Korean “She doesn’t know what we’re talking about.” Just then I realized what she had said. “Oh! Change my pants!” I exclaimed. My aunt nodded her head. I went to the room with my luggage in it. Closed the door, and fished out a pair of pajama pants. It’s Korean culture that when you get home you change into more comfortable clothes. Sort of like loungewear. I slipped them on and went back out into the living room where everyone had slipped into their normal activities. All the men watching TV in the living room, all the women in the tiny kitchen bustling about, and the children in Grandpa’s bedroom. It was a small room with black Korean wardrobes and a Korean vanity with detailed ornate cranes and ginkgo trees carved in the sides and painted with bright colors. This was the one thing of Grandma’s that Grandpa had left. She passed a way two summers before my visit, of breast cancer. My mother didn’t have very good memories of her, because of their hard lifestyle. With a minimal income and five kids my grandparents were hard pressed to make ends meet. I looked at my cousins. They’re eyes were all glued to the TV, as usual they were watching a musical performance show. I looked and saw a poppy bubbly group, probably the new hot thing in Korean music. I really didn’t know, they came out with artists so fast I could barely keep track. Although I do admit I after the trip was over Korean music would be my favorite genre. My guilty pleasure, they’re music scene is reminiscent of America’s 90’s music scene. I looked at my cousin Ye-Seul, who was one month apart in age from me. She looked back, “Hi.” “Hey,” I said. Just then I caught sight of her wrist. I gasped. My cousins heads snapped up to look at me. I pointed to Yeseul’s wrist, “Is that real?” “Umm, yes,” she half smiled. “Did it hurt? Did your mom get mad?” She shook her head. “A little bit, no she is not mad,” she said. I only asked this because in Korea getting a tattoo meant trashiness. It was a big no no in Korean society, but Ye-seul is a big rebel. She aspires to be an American, while I aspire to be a Korean. I told her we’ll switch places. I was surprised at her answer. Just then the apartment door opened again. Autumn walked through the door, dressed nicely as usual. She kicked off her heels, and walked up to the door way and looked at all of us laying on grandpa’s makeshift bed made of blankets on the floor. She answer a few questions from her mother who was making dinner in the kitchen with my other aunt. She came into the room and plopped down on the floor. “Hi Bianca,” she said. “Hi,” I said back and gave her a smile. I obviously wasn’t going to get through this trip with my superb Korean speaking skills, so I might as well convey my emotions with my face. I was happy to see her, most definitely, she was the best English speaker in the family, and the only kid who had been to America, well Hawaii to visit my aunt, but it’s still America. She watched TV for a few minutes and then turned back to me. “ Did you see Ye-seuls tattoo?” she asked with a look of disgust on her face. “Yeah,” I said. “I scream at her for long time, it’s bad,” she said. “Mm,” I said. So I was right. Tattoos are a Korean taboo.

Readers choice!

So the four of you are very special if you're following this. Haha
My problem is that I have so much to write about Korea that I don't even know where to begin.
I've been to South Korea twice. Once in the Summer of 2008 and once in the summer of 2009. I've had so many experiences. Good, bad, and funny.
So I'm requesting a bit of help from you all.
What do you want to know? How the bathroom's are, what they eat, what are the people like.
ANYTHING! really anything you want to know about.
So just leave a comment below asking a question, and I'll answer. =)


Korean Pizza, quite possible the best pizza in the world

A Korean rest stop

When we were in the car, Yu-Gyung’s brow furrowed by thought. “Ah! Grandpa,” she realized. Suddenly her fingers flurried over the keys, and she again handed the phone to me. “Hi Grandpa,” I said in Korean. He then proceeded to interrogate me about my school, whether I learned anymore Korean, I told him I understood a minimal amount, my mother, if she still with to mass, and how my father was doing. Even then, it was a short conversation, grandpa wasn’t one to waste breath very often. My cousin then retrieved the phone from my hands and once more her fingers flurried over the keys. Before I knew it she was holding the open flip phone in front of my face. Two screens appeared, one small square with live video of the two of us, and in a larger square above appeared a petite young woman in her late twenties with large eyes and a big smile. It was like Skype but as a phone application. I took this moment to mourn the poor comparison of America’s technology to South Korea’s up-to-date, electronic, and automatic everything. My cousin Autumn greeted me with a big wave. “Bianca! Hi!” I waved back. She asked me in Korean, “How was your plane trip?” “Good,” I said. She then told me that I would see her soon, and to have a good trip back to grandpa’s hometown. A few minutes passed inside the limited edition white Kia Carnival minivan. My two cousins were lightly scorned by my uncle for not trying to speak English to me. This was then followed by a few weak attempts. Inquiries were short lived. After a few hours I nodded off to sleep, and woke up when the car stopped. I looked around, and realized where we were. Euphoria struck every nerve in my body. Oh dear God, was it true? Could it be? We were actually at a South Korean rest stop. I thought of my friends reactions back home if I told them that one of the things I missed so much about Korea was the rest stops. I’d would’ve probably gotten stares that accused me of insanity, but oh no. This wasn’t just any “rest stop” in the American sense. These glorious institutions did not house stale chips and juice with a thousand preservatives in a rarely stocked vending machines. This place didn’t strike fear in the people that needed bathrooms, for these bathroom were a place someone looked forward to using! Fresh and constantly stocked in soap and toilet paper, but even the enjoyable bathrooms could never distract from the real attraction in these rest stops. These places were food Meccas. My cousin was the only one left in the car with me. I looked at her, and hopped out of the car. She followed as I ran indoors to the middle of all the food vendors. I stopped, closed my eyes, and inhaled. Pure bliss. Smells and sounds pulled me in a thousand different directions. I quickly realized I’d let my memory fade too much. All the aromas I had been missing in the past year had come back and crashed down all me like an intense and unforgiving waterfall. All the classics were there. Rice cake, sweet potato chips, fried bread stuffed with brown sugar, cinnamon, and peanuts, noodle dishes of every kind, California rolls of the Korean variety. While I was marveling at all the vendors my uncle found us. He asked if I wanted anything but I was too polite to accept any offers. He frowned displeased with my refusal, and then started walking away motioning for us to follow. He went to the “Kwik-mart” section of the food court and stopped in front of the freezers. My uncle smugly asked me, “Want ice-cream?” My uncle only remembered too well the one thing I could never say no to, my number one weakness, my vice, the epitome of my food happiness; Korean ice cream. Whenever I refused my uncles overly generous behaviors this is where he went, this is where he knew I would always lose the constant battle of hospitality between me, and him. As I stared into the freezer full of sugar and cream filled packages, my heart rate accelerated. There goes my diet, once again. All of them were individually packaged and on a stick, which would’ve technically made them popsicles, but this was an understatement. These treats were far more decadent than their name implied. Their flavors ranging from melon to chocolate to sweet red bean. This flavor and variety, I knew, I would never get in America. One of America’s shortcomings I knew I could never get over. He picked up a classic red bean popsicle. While this flavor might’ve seemed odd to most non-southeastern Asians, it was well missed by myself over the past year. My favorite. He tossed it at me while my cousins contemplated snacks to take on the way home.

Tonight...

My Best friend's mom brought home her new boyfriend . My friend had no idea. Unfair?

I quit my job becuase a girl heard some untrue gossip that I didn't like her. She then proceeded to shove me and call me a bitch. I gave my one week's notice. Unfair?

The person who claims to be a friend doesn't defend me when I'm not there. Unfair?

Max wasn't a wild thing, or a king. He was just Max. Unfair?

My body is and never look like what I want it to be, because no matter what I do, I will always see myself as a heavy person. Unfair?

My friend called me crying saying her boyfriend had cancerous tumors on his spinal cord. Unfair?

I've never wanted to cry out in public. I've never wanted to express so badly, i've never been so overcome with emotion. What is this? Why is my life like this? What happens when it feels like I can't deal with all of it anymore. Seeing someone in pain. Sometimes no matter how many times they say they don't care, you know they care more with each time they say it. How much different is it when someone you love is going in pain, and when youre experiencing it yourself? My past eating disorders have altered my life. I could never take it back. I hope I never get cancer. What would I do? I have so much respect for people with cancer. How would I ever deal?

Why is it when I quit a job or get fired I always feel like a failure? I know I haven't don't anything wrong, but I still feel like shit. Oh well...life goes on. I'll always have my Korean mother to help me through it. They're tough enduring people. (You know I had to sneak it in there, lol).

Pot-Bing-Soo

So you might be wondering what the picture on the banner is. It's my all time favorite Korean Desert ever. This might partly be becuase it's not available in rural Ohio. Sometimes I wish I could go to Korea or Korea Town in California just for this one thing. So what is it? Name: Pot bing soo. Descriptions: shaved ice topped with red beans in sweet syrup, fruit, and sometimes ice cream or whipped cream. For foreigners it might be suprising that someone would use beans for desert, but korean sweet beans are euphoric. They're always immersed in a sweet syrup, and a flavor like nothing else. I couldn't even make comparison to something else. All I really know is that it's good! Something about it. Pot bing soo is such a widely enjoyed dish in Korea that they even made popsicles to mock it's flavor combinations. It's amazing and common only to S.Korea. *^_^*

Cousins

Stepping off the plane the air was heavy with moisture, the viscosity assaulting my lungs, hitting my taste receptors on the way down with uncanny sweetness. I sighed. Relief and stress hit me at the same time. How was I going to find customs? Where was the baggage claim? Was my family going to be waiting for me? Relax, I told myself, it’s an airport, not a maze. Eventually I found my family waiting for me at gate whatever, and exchanged hugs with whoever wanted them. However enjoyable this reunion was, it was not the moment I realized how special this country would become to me. As we walked to meet my uncle who was pulling up the car from parking to pick us up, my 14 year old cousin walked beside me, her cell phone in hand. She apologized, “Sorry we are late, it’s because my brother. He stay to eat, umm, rice cake with his friends. He is…I don’t like him.” At that moment I looked behind us at the 12 year old little boy, immersed in his Nintendo DS, he almost ran into a wall, but narrowly avoided it, knowing that if we caused injury to himself while playing Nintendo, he wouldn’t be playing video games of any kind for the next week. He was lanky in structure but still adorable with the last of his baby fat remaining in his cheeks. He looked up at us, “huh?” Just then Yu-Gyung, his older sister, emitted an annoyed squeal. Despite her lack of proper usage of simple verbs and adjectives, I was quickly told Yu-Gyung was the best English-speaker in the family. Later I found this to be true, as she was the only one brave enough to practice her English skills with me. As I looked at how much taller and leaner she had grown in just a year, with pin straight shoulder length dark brown hair and glasses, she peered into her cell phone, her face inches from the screen. She suddenly handed the phone to me “Yeseul,” she said. “Hello?” I said. “Bianca! What’s up?!” she exalted from the other end. This sadly was the most English I heard her speak for the rest of my stay. I was taken aback. “Um, haha, nothing much. How are you?” I asked. I could hear her searching for words. “Here’s Yu-Gyung, okay?” I passed off the phone. When we were in the car, Yu-Gyung’s brow furrowed by thought. “Ah! Grandpa,” she realized. Suddenly her fingers flurried over the keys, and she again handed the phone to me. “Hi Grandpa,” I said in Korean. He then proceeded to interrogate me about my school, whether I learned anymore Korean, I told him I understood a minimal amount, my mother, if she still with to mass, and how my father was doing. Even then, it was a short conversation, grandpa wasn’t one to waste breath very often. My cousin then retrieved the phone from my hands and once more her fingers flurried over the keys. Before I knew it she was holding the open flip phone in front of my face. Two screens appeared, one small square with live video of the two of us, and in a larger square above appeared a petite young woman in her late twenties with large eyes and a big smile. It was like Skype but as a phone application. I took this moment to mourn the poor comparison of America’s technology to South Korea’s up-to-date, electronic, and automatic everything. My cousin Autumn greeted me with a big wave. “Bianca! Hi!” I waved back. She asked me in Korean, “How was your plane trip?” “Good,” I said. She then told me that I would see her soon, and to have a good trip back to grandpa’s hometown. A few minutes passed inside the limited edition white Kia Carnival minivan. My two cousins were lightly scorned by my uncle for not trying to speak English to me. This was then followed by a few weak attempts. Inquiries were short lived.

My first trip

South Korea was the only place I really ever felt at home. It was like I belonged there all my life. My first time I couldn't remember. I was only three months old when my mother took to South Korea for the first time. My second time I was fifteen years old. Upon arriving we all recieved hugs, and exclamations of how I'd grown so much. This being the second time they had seen me since I was a baby. After a week or so, my family had taken me in and made me feel like Korea was my country. The culture was mine to have, a little piece of electiness Icould take back to America. I loved the music, the times I spent with my cousins in the private karaoke rooms (norae-bong) literally translated; song room. The culture more defined by it's cuisine than anything else. South Korea is the eating country. Almost every eating institution is open late night, becuase, well that's what Koreans do. They eat unitl they simply can not eat anymore. It's the eating culture, but I love it. I loved everything about it. It was the complete opposite of the typical American rugged individulism, there in South Korea, there was no shame in spending time with your family, no shame in giving or recieving help from anyone else, no shame of loving one another. It was when I realized this about Korea that I fell in love with South Korea...

More to come later, if you like reading detailed travel blogs, then this'll be the blog for you *^_^*

Much Love,
Korean Eater