Perennial Requiem

        

           The picture above was taken on my birthday in the cafe where my parents first met. Despite the fact that it was my birthday , I was not overcome with the celebratory emotion that I usually felt.  I had the opportunity to drink a mango smoothie at the Grand Intercontinental Hotel in Seoul Parnas, South Korea.  Unfortunately, it also cost me 22 dollars to buy one cup: 22$ for which I will never get a refund.  I felt at the time that life was ripping me off not only emotionally, but also literally.  It only made me feel worse about the situation at hand.  On the table stood the smoothie, along with red bean cookies, sugar packets, and a paper straw that remained in its wrapper.  At this moment, I remember being in the presence of my father, who also ordered something seemingly overpriced - a cup of coffee for 20 dollars! Maybe he was getting ripped off more than me.

It was a very confusing and troubling time for me then.  My grandmother was in the hospital during the final stages of bile duct cancer, and my mother was torn to pieces.  It was a very sudden discovery and a big hit to our entire family. To break some of the solemn tone and uneasy atmosphere, my father told me a story on the importance of the very place and spot I was sitting in. This hotel happened to be the very first meeting spot of my parents as I learned.  Right in that exact café, about 20 years ago my parents first met each other.  Both of them were fresh out of graduate school and were introduced to each other by a common friend.

After talking for a few minutes, they had proceeded to the mall next to the hotel to see an aquarium exhibit.  Back then apparently, the aquarium had a very thought-provoking exhibit that displayed fishes that people would normally catch and eat such as cod and mackerel.  My father remembered that my mom enjoyed the experience very much.  (Later I had asked my mom about her experience the first time meeting my dad: she said she didn’t remember a single thing!)  Moments and memories such as this one helped but were more of a deterrent than a cure from the crisis. It helped me take my mind off for a second or two, but thoughts came flooding in right after and my mind was null once again. My dad’s story helped me distinguish reality with delusion and at least made me a little saner than I was before. 

Later that day, my grandmother passed away and it created a certain uneasiness within me knowing that my birthday would never be the same to me again. In a way, I felt sort of guilty and responsible through some kind of sixth sense. I had shared many memories with my grandmother and my mind was beyond null at the time.  As a young child growing up in the states, my parents were often held up late at night with work.  During those times, my grandmother had watched over me and taken care of my education visiting us. Eventually, she had to return to South Korea and my mother felt despondent on being separated a large distance from my grandmother. While she was at the hospital, my grandmother refused to let her grand kids see her in a weak state; it was contrary to what me and my cousins saw most of the time: a strong resilient woman, who despite her age was incredibly knowledgeable, sensible, and loving. My mother later said some comforting words to me that this day will be especially remembered by our family.