(hi tysm for reading, tap the star if u do so desire :)
(this one is quite a chapter, and lengthy as usual. but ty if u stick around ilysm)
teraphobia (n.)
ter·a· pho· bia
The fear of monsters, the dark, and what is in the dark.
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[WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions, discussions, and scenes of suicide. If any of this content makes you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading further. Reader discretion advised.]
To say 'it's difficult' in Korean is to say 'it takes strength'.
Himdeuleo was a common phrase for all frustrated humans to toss around for all sorts of struggles whether it be their most recent chemistry test or the end of the world. Anywhere within or adjacent to the range, it was a tri-syllabic word to sum it all up.
Mrs. Moon told us what everyone always overlooks about a culture is the language. The way you speak is the way you think, she told us.
"Have you ever gotten something from your grandparents?" she asked. I nodded. She said, "Did you say thank you?"
"Of course," I said.
"Did they say 'you're welcome'?"
I paused, trying to retrace my time back. "I...guess not."
Mrs. Moon said, "You know, in a lot of Asian cultures, there are ways to say 'you're welcome' but almost no one ever says it? That shapes a lot of their culture."
My Korean had slipped from my grasp over the years. On a good day, I might be able to read a few headlines in Hangul. But for the most part, I was left to keep it alive in K-drama binges and Mrs. Yang's commands.
Mrs. Moon's words had left me up that night, thinking about every last interaction I'd had with my family. Korean culture could be so prideful and so humble, so loud and so quiet, so subservient and so power-hungry. So 'thank you' mattered to make you sweet and make you honorable. 'You're welcome' came out in no and it's okay and not a problem. If you were cynical, it was a matter of place. If you were wide-eyed, it was a matter of gratitude.
Himdeuleo followed a similar track.
My father sat on our porch steps, the evening brisk with incoming summer, his hair combed with gray. My mother slept upstairs, but she was always sleeping, so I was left to speak to my father in her absence.
Old-fashioned Korean fathers weren't really meant to be talked to. They were meant to be listened to and understood, to bargain with and strike deals, to make proud and disappoint, to speak about real things like talking through cellophane.
I sat down with two BB-Big bars, the steps cool under my skin. He gazed out at the twilight streets.
I handed him one and we ate in silence, which I tolerated for only a minute. I said, "Can't you tell me what's wrong with Umma?"
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Suicide Buddies
Teen Fiction"My mother once told me there are three, and only three, truly defining moments in your life. One: When you don't know. Two: When you realize you don't know. Three: When you know. This is about the third one." --- Angel Young is going to die. Or at...
