Pen Pals

Talks

"What a present surprise."

"Morning, I've cooked." I smiled at her smooth stern face.

"You? Cooked? For me?" She broke up, phrased with laughter.

"Yes, now let me in." I whined like a child, she shook her head and stepped to the side.

The smell of medicines and lavender enveloped me, comfortingly. My hands were full of boxed containers, so before I was able to greet the small woman before me, I set the items in the kitchen. Taking a brief look around the small, clean kitchen I couldn't help but notice that something was different. Thing is, I couldn't put my finger on it. I shook my head, dismissing the thought before dishing out the food.

"You're tired." Her cherry-like voice pinpointed.

"How'd you know?" I asked, without looking at her.

"You look like shit." She said bluntly.

I felt offended, only slightly, but laughed anyways, as it was true and genuinely funny. This woman could read my emotions like a book.

"Well thanks for the observation. I've made your favourite." I turned to her and smiled with a plate of steamed food in my left hand and a cup of herbal tea in my right.

Her full hearted smile warmed me, making my boyish emotions well up from within. I placed my eomma's breakfast at the low traditional Korean table. I pulled out a cushion for my mother to sit on before escorting her to the dinning area. I wanted to hug her, but I was conflicting upon it. As a young boy I was taught not to really be so clingy. Meaning, no unnecessary hugs, no kisses, no physical comfort a child may seek from mother and/or father. My mum was a blunt person, didn't smile a lot and tended to keep to herself. When father wasn't around we sometimes watched movies whilst I cuddled with her. As if a flamboyant child, I used to rant to my mother about all my problems. It wasn't until I began finding my own way was when there was a slight division that tended to grow. I could no longer sit in my mother's company for half an hour straight before wanting to rip out my head hairs. One thing my mother did and still does was complain. Nothing wasn't ever good enough. However, as a boy she was so compassionate, despite being severely strict in most aspects to my life. It was my father that seemed to be softer, especially on the educational aspects, but extremely disciplined when it came to nurturing. He hated when I cried, complained or simply hugged my mother. Or him for that matter. As long as I didn't get below a B in my grades he was fine to get along with. He was a very frontish' yet an expressive, opinionated person. And still is. Whereas my mother was more conserved with hardened face.

My father though, despite providing for my mother and I, was a piece of trash for a man. He abused women in various of ways. He committed fraud to get to the top by selling himself to the devil. He likes to paint pictures with peoples lives. Especially mine, but he doesn't have the resources yet. Not that he ever will.

The way he abandoned my mother and I when they finally got a divorce was unforgivable. But at least it pushed me into making things well for my mother and I. Both my parents had flaws, but my father was the one I disliked the most. He doesn't and never has really gotten to know me, accept how I am as a business man. My mother on the other hand, she knows me, she knew me too well, but at times it's overbearing.
..

Whilst my mother and I ate breakfast and drank tea, we watched a korean morning talk show. It was a load of bullshit, which she agreed on, but mocking the various presenters was fun. I didn't know how to go about breaking the ice though, but for once in my life it seemed as if my mother wasn't willing to break it for me.

I burped, after finishing the tea, before excusing myself. Embarrassment addressed my face before I just blurted it out, in hope that she heard me. "Hanaiya's here."