Pusatilla Koreana

I love going to calligraphy lessons. I am so happy while I’m there. There’s such a feeling of calmness and serenity. And this group of old men is hilarious. Although I feel like I’m seven years old again whenever I’m there. I have to consciously remind myself that I’m an adult. I think.

I arrived again this morning as Son-Seong Song was preparing coffee. Sit, sit, sit. We crowded onto the small couches. Lots of Korean talk back and forth. I think they were talking about the Olympics. Maybe. The retired English teacher, Mr. Lee, was there. He translated now and then. Mostly I just listened to the Korean.

Son-Seong Song pointed to the flower in the vase. “Grandmother flower,” I said. Laughter all around. Okay, that’s what they told me the name was yesterday, and now they’re laughing at me. No, no, no. The Korean word means grandmother, but it’s called “ho-moe-nay.” Which means grandmother. Something was lost in the translation. The rest of the morning was spent trying to find the English name for Grandmother flower. First, they got out the Korean English dictionary. I looked up the word in Korean. The definition said “pusatilla koreana.” I assume that is a Latin word for Korean flower. They wanted to see the dictionary. I passed it to them. They went and got their reading glasses. They still couldn’t see it. They used both their reading glasses and a super-sized magnifying glass. Ahhhhhhhh.

We finished our coffee and went to our work stations. I have graduated to circles. Yes. Not just straight lines any more. Not just boxes. Circles.

When my arm, shoulder, hand, wrist, would tire I would watch the other men. How they hold the brush. How they dip the brush in the ink. The movements they make. One man was creating flowers, not Chinese characters. Ohhhhhh, it’s so pretty, I said in Korean. Mr. Lee told me the name of the flower, then the Korean word for leaf. Ip? No, no, no. Ip means mouth. Ippp. Oh. This whole aspiration thing is hard for me. A word has a totally different meaning depending on if the last consonant is soft or aspirated. I’ll learn. I will.

I watched Mr. Lee create scrolls upon scrolls of Chinese characters. He explained to me it was a Buddhist prayer. Like the “Our Father.” He pointed to two of the men. “We – Christian. Others – Buddhist. Son-Seong Song – Buddhist.” Just then Son-Seong Song entered carrying a tin can and a stick. He tapped out a rhythm on the can. Mr. Lee turned several pages in the book he was copying from. Son-Seong Song began chanting. Mr. Lee pointed at the characters he was saying, turning pages when necessary. He recited the entire Buddhist prayer. Another student came in, joining him from memory. Even though I couldn’t understand the words, I could understand the emotion.

When they finished, I continued to watch another student make flowers, and leaves, and stalks, and stones, on a long scroll. There was a commotion in the other room. In Korean, of course. Mr. Lee explained to me: In Korea, when we see a beautiful woman, we say, “Flower.” We call you, “American flower.” I blushed. In Korean, I said, “Thank you very much.” Ahhhhh – the miguk speaks Korean. Very wonderful.

Just then Son-Seong Song re-entered. [very fast Korean phrase] to the man who shares my table. I could understand the words for “ink” and “water” and “black.” Were they talking about mixing more ink? Then, “Indian ink.” (in English) and a bout of laughter. “Miss Lori – Indian ink – you know?” Yes. Hahahahahahaha. “Black and white pictures.” Hahahahahahahaha. I’m not even going to attempt to understand this translation.

At the end of the lesson, the student who was painting the nature scenes took Mr. Lee aside. “Miss Lori. Miss Lori.” Yes? “You will be his English teacher. Yes? He will teach you Korean.” My pleasure.