my parents

My father was born in 1938*, and my mother in 1946. When they were young, the world was in chaos—right after Korea’s liberation or during the Korean War. Neither of them had the chance to go to school. In fact, they’re functionally illiterate.

My father can read just enough to recognize family members’ names, bus destinations, and numbers. My mother learned basic Korean through dementia-prevention classes, so she can also read things like names in her phone contacts.

About 40 to 50 years ago, most elderly people in the countryside couldn’t read. At bus terminals, it was common for older folks to ask, “Where’s this bus going?” simply because they couldn’t read the signs. Most of that generation has now passed away, and illiteracy has nearly vanished in Korea.

My parents met through an matchmaker. Since I was born in 1971, they likely first met around 1970. These days, it's normal for couples to date for a long time before getting married. But back then, in the countryside, people got married as soon as they met. You might wonder—how could they marry someone they barely knew? Young people today would be shocked.

 

But here’s the thing: even couples who deeply love each other and know each other well still divorce—one in three, Have you ever heard? culture says, “Marry the person that you love but God says Love the person that you marry. There’s no right answer or order when it comes to love. And that, too, is truth.

 

My father is a master farmer, and my mother is a master cook. Especially in our neighborhood, my mother’s food gets constant praise. They excel at what they do because they didn’t learn it in school—they learned it by doing it, day after day, from a very young age. I may be from the countryside, but all I learned in school was how to pick the right answer out of four choices. I know nothing about farming. And it’s not just me—most women in cities today don’t know how to make kimchi, so they just buy it at the market.

 

There’s no hierarchy between book learning and physical labor. Some Native American tribes even refused to use written language, believing it went against the nature’s law. In that sense, my parents have lived their lives in harmony with nature, through their whole bodies. I respect both my parents and their way of life.

 

Their way of living has deeply influenced me. They never forced me to do—or not to do—anything. But when it came to things I really shouldn’t do, they made sure I understood clearly.

Now that they’re older, a caregiver visits them two or three times a week. The caregiver once told me, “Your parents love each other so much—it’s rare to see a couple like them.” And she added, “Your mother is so neat and her cooking is absolutely incredible. I’ve learned so much from her.” Now in their 80s, my parents still lean on each other, living together sweetly and happily.

I have about ten friends in my neighborhood, and only two of us—including myself—still have both parents alive. That in itself feels like such a blessing. I owe at least 80% of who I am today to my parents. These days, I make it a point to visit them every weekend.