Deviant Love

7 - HER

[Chapter 7]

As I walked through the familiar doorway of my childhood home, the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals enveloped me. My mom, the observant one, immediately sensed that something was up.

"Did something happen?" she asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

I greeted her with a warm hug, trying to keep my emotions in check.

"Well, hello to you too, Mom. Can't I come home just because I missed you?" I joked, putting on a playful pout.

My mom flicked my forehead affectionately, "Aiya, i yeojarang eotteohge haeya haji?." [Oh dear, what should I do about this girl?]

"Eomma," I pulled back, rubbing my sore forehead. [Mom]

"Nae ttareul bangchihaejuseyo," my father walked in. His face was stoic as ever, but his eyes held a glimmer of happiness that I recognized so well. [Leave my daughter alone.]

Ah, Asian fathers-masters of expressing love in subtle ways. He might not say it outright, but his actions spoke volumes. He was always present at my school programs, ensuring he never missed a moment of my life. He provided for me without question.

And my mom, the embodiment of love and care. She always surprised me with homemade banchan, those delightful Korean side dishes. Whenever she miraculously knew I was running out of them, a fresh batch would appear like magic.

[Banchan- (반찬) Banchan refers to a variety of small side dishes served in Korean cuisine. These dishes accompany the main course and get shared among the diners during a meal. Banchan can range from simple vegetables and pickles to more complex preparations like seasoned meats, fish, and tofu.]

I loved my parents.

"Here," I pulled two bags. "I brought you guys some gifts," I smiled, rushing them inside as I sat on the floor unboxing them.

"Appa, igeo dangsin-eul wihan geoya," I handed the first box to my dad, my voice filled with anticipation and affection. [Dad, this is for you.]

His eyes flickered with surprise as he opened it, revealing a new pair of leather boots.

The last time I visited, I noticed his old boots were wearing down, and I knew he was too frugal to get himself a new pair. He was never one to splurge on himself, even if he would buy me designer shoes without batting an eye.

"What a waste of money," he sighed, but I could tell later he would brag to his friends that his daughter bought him new shoes.

Next was my mom's turn. "Eomma," I said, my voice softening with warmth and love as I handed her the box. She opened it with wide eyes, her surprise quickly giving her emotions. Inside was a beautiful silk scarf from Ralph Lauren.

I knew my mom liked to save money, but I also noticed a hint of envy when she looked at her friends who had designer clothes. I might not be able to afford an entire wardrobe of designer clothes for her, but I could start with something small.

As I earned more, I hoped to give back to my parents, who had always been my unwavering support system.

"You," her eyes teared up as she looked at the scarf, her voice choked with emotion. "Wasteful girl," she scolded me lightly, but her touch on the scarf was tender, and a ghost smile on her face. I could see how much she cherished the gift; it filled me with joy.

When my dad first stepped foot on American soil, he probably thought he'd breeze through conversations with his "basic" English.

He tried so hard to land a decent job in food science, but all he got were offers to wash dishes at restaurants. I bet he could've won awards for the most innovative dishwashing techniques!

As for my mom, she faced the English-speaking world armed with nothing but determination and a thick Korean accent. People around her seemed to think she was auditioning for "The Best Korean Accent Award," but she never let their taunts dampen her spirit.

She learned English over the years. She took those judgmental stares and turned them into a stare-down of her own.

After battling various odd jobs, my dad finally got a job at a proper company as a food scientist. Since then, he's been a pro at saving and providing for Mom and me. I was probably just a toddler when he achieved his breakthrough, blissfully unaware of the struggles they went through and won.

I may have been born and raised in the USA, but sometimes I feel like a banana - yellow on the outside but all-American on the inside. Not going back to Korea meant missing out on experiencing my roots firsthand, and the only Korean I spoke was with my parents. So, yeah, "Lost in Translation" part two - "The Whitewashed Edition" - starring me!

Embracing my Korean culture is like digging in a buffet spread - I'll take it one delicious dish at a time.

----

My mother's culinary skills were no joke. She could probably give the world's top chefs a run for their money with her ability to stuff me with food. I felt like a walking food coma after today's feast.

I stood on the balcony, the breeze caressed my skin, but something felt off. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was getting watched. But when I checked, there was no one in sight.

Chalking it up to my imagination playing tricks on me, I sighed and headed back to my room, ready to embrace the inviting arms of sleep.

My eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted into a dream-like state. In that surreal world-a warm hand gently caressed my face, lulling me into tranquility.

"You are mine, Daisy." The voice that accompanied it was deep, pleasant, and smooth. It was a voice that could make me weak at the knees and send shivers down my spine.

"I will do anything to get you back. Even if it means doing wrong things," the voice said, the words tinged with desperation and regret. The hand pushed my hair back tenderly, and I felt a soft, feathery touch on my cheek, like a butterfly's gentle kiss.

"I will protect you, baby. Just come back to me," warm liquid falling on my face.

"I will never hurt you again."

With a final caress, the warmth disappeared. "Sleep, baby," and the voice was gone too.

In my slumber, I groaned and reached out, hoping to grasp that elusive warmth again, but it was futile. The dream slipped away, leaving me feeling both shaken and oddly comforted.

----

Creepy? Or creepy hot?

vote. comment. follow

Instagram: @vairhans