Got Milk?

I don’t understand it. I’m not skinny. Especially by Asian standards. Yet I am constantly being offered food. Usually, by people I know. But now, by strangers as well.

Today was a beautiful spring day. Warm, not hot. Gentle breeze. Fresh. After so-yae I decided to meander before going home. Just enjoy being outside. I walked along this street and that, then decided to go where all the women sell their produce along the street. Even if I don’t buy anything, I love walking along this street. There is only about 2 feet of actual sidewalk that is not covered by baskets of beans, stacks of cabbage, bowls of live fish. Most of the produce is a dull green, or white, or brown. But every now and then I’ll spy piles of intense red strawberries or incredibly bright orange tangerines. I was meadering, looking at the produce, trying to identify items, trying to avoid slipping in the fish water on the sidewalk, when I heard “Hell-llo.” I looked up, there was a man standing beside a small table. On the table were small cartons of milk, the kind I used to drink in elementary school. “Annong ha-sayo,” I replied. Russia? “Ani-o, Miguk.” Where? “San Francisco.” Ahhhhh. San Francisco. You drink milk? “Excuse me?” Milk – you like milk? “Ummmmm. I guess. (anticipating a hard sell) But I don’t drink very much.” My present to you. I will bring you milk everyday. “No, thank you. That’s very generous of you. But no.” Present. I bring to your house everyday. One carton of milk. My present to you. You no pay. You drink my milk. “Thank you (laughing), thank you, but no. Annong hee kay say-o!”

naive – lacking worldly experience and understanding

Okay. How does this happen? I am really naive? I never thought so before, but now I’m beginning to wonder. I was looking forward to going out with Mr. Kim tonight – to eat “raw fish.” Another new friend. He picks me up. He tells me in the car he’s missed me this week. Okay, that’s a little weird, but okay. We go to the “raw fish” restaurant, Dong Hay. East Sea.

We sit down and many, many dishes arrive. Grilled fish. Salads. Mussels. Soup. Kim chi. Kim bop. And the soju. I tell him I don’t want to drink much soju – it is too strong for me. We start eating the “side dishes.” We have polite dinner conversation. About his business. My school. His family. I ask him if he is married. He laughs. I don’t see what is so funny about that question. He’s asked me, I’ve answered, why can’t I ask him. “I think you ask me that because I am so strong and look so young.” No, I ask you that because I know you have children (in university, nonetheless) and I assumed your wife would be joining us tonight. He said, “No, maybe another time my wife will join us, but tonight, it is just us.” I tell him this is odd, that in America normally husband and wife eat dinner together. He laughs and says, “No, you are lying. I know better.”

The main course arrives. So much raw fish. He tells me that in the morning I will not be able to recognize my skin. What are you talking about? Recognize? No, realize. I will not be able to realize how soft my skin will be after eating raw fish. Whatever.

We start to eat, by now we have finished almost one bottle of soju. He starts to talk about how much soju costs in other countries. In Korea, it is not a burden for the common man to purchase. But in America, maybe it is $20 a bottle. Noooooo. Yes. That is not right. You, you think like a teacher, 1 + 1 equals 2. But a businessman, he knows customs, taxes, profits, and yes, it is $20. Okay – that was extremely patronizing.

So, I think you must be lonely. You are in a foreign country. What do you do when you are lonely?

Well, sometimes I miss my friends and family, but I email them a lot, and I talk to my parents once a week, so it’s okay. Plus, I’ve made friends here in Korea. So I hang out with them.

No, I think you get lonely. Like a woman gets lonely. You were married. And now divorced. What do you do when you want sexual intercourse?

(I almost spit my soju at him. I’ve never been asked so bluntly before.) Wellllllll. I just get over it.

No. I think you need a partner. A sexual partner.

(Oh, God. Is this where this is going?) No, I don’t need sexual partner.

Well, I take many business trips. And I get lonely. I want a sexual partner. But I don’t want to go to the red light street. So, maybe when I go on a business trip… What do you do when you get lonely?

I don’t think it is the same. I don’t want to have sexual intercourse with just anyone. I want it to be someone I care about. And I have not found anyone lately that I care about. I would rather be alone. (and I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you)

But you have to have desires. I will be your partner.

I don’t think so.

But that means maybe yes?

No, that means I don’t ever think that will happen. Ever.

But we do not know what will happen in the future. Insha’allah, right?

I know you will not be my sexual partner. Does your wife know you have other partners?

I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Her job is a housewife. She takes care of my children and my house.

Would you care if she had other partners?

Not if it wasn’t in our home. She can do what she wants. I can do what I want. This is the Korean way.

No, I don’t think so.

Okay, it is the western way. Isn’t that why you divorced your husband?

No. It is not the western way either. And, my husband and I were together 6 years. During that time I did not have relations with anyone else and I truly believe he did not either. That is not the western way. (and why am I still having this conversation?)

Many English teachers, especially women, are here in Daegu.

Okay.

There are stories in the paper everyday. Foreign hag-wan teachers. Using hashish to combat loneliness.

I don’t do drugs either.

No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying many teachers use drugs. You are from San Francisco, right?

Yes.

Many people in San Francisco, they are lesbian, right?

I’m not a lesbian, either.

I do not understand. You must be lonely. What do you do?

I don’t think it is the same between men and women. I don’t have to have sex with someone.

Well, when you were in Kuwait…

Yes.

Kuwaiti men, they love to f*ck American women.

I met my husband in Kuwait. He was American. I never dated any Arabic men.

Arabic women, they are beautiful. Like a painting. The most beautiful women in the world.

Yes, they are beautiful.

But American women, except for you, of course, they are tough. Not so beautiful.

(raised eyebrows)

I said except for you. But the most unattractive women, Scandinavian women.

Really?

Yes. They are so tall. And so big. Big eyes. Lots of freckles. Light hair. And hair all over their body. Everywhere.

Really? I’ve never been there.

I was in a cafe run by Tabu. You know Tabu?

No.

No? Yes, you do. The movie maker.

No.

Porn movies.

I’ve never seen a porn movie.

What? Are you from North Korea?

No. I’m from America. And I’ve never seen a porn movie.

Let’s go. Right now. I will show you one.

No.

Okay, anyway, I was in this cafe. And the waitresses were completely naked. Except for high heels and their trays.

Okay.

But I couldn’t look at them, they were so unattractive. Here, have some more fish.

I can’t. (rubbing my tummy) I’m full.

No, your chest is full. I did not realize it when we were hiking, but now, tonight, oh my god. I think only your chest is full, not your tummy.

I’m ready to go.

Wait. Isn’t this well, special? I mean, we were destined to meet. There are never any women on the trails at Apsan. And there you were. And we were there at the same time. And I spoke to you. And we hiked together. And we spoke Arabic. This is meant to be. We are meant to be sexual partners.

No, we’re not.

I think, maybe, in a past life you were a cow. And I was a mosquito. And we were together then as well. Now we have the chance to be closer in this life.

(First of all, calling me a cow, even in a past life, is not going to endear me to you.) No. I don’t think so.

But that means maybe? Mumkin (Arabic for maybe).

Mish mumkin (Arabic for no possible way).

I caught a cab home. Am I really so naive?

I Now Know What A Bad Standup Comic Feels Like…

In one of my writing classes, I had to teach riddles. Riddles only work if you understand the play on words. Who was the genius who included this in our ESL curriculum?

“How is a fiction book like a tall building?” Answer from the class: they both contain a lot of information. “Okay… any other guesses?” Books can be found in buildings. A picture of a building is in a book, maybe. “Yes…. Okay, the answer is – They both contain many stories!” I’m met with blank stares. So I go to the whiteboard. “See, a book, it contains stories, tales about things that happen, right? And a building that is tall, has many floors, which are also called stories. See? Isn’t that funny?” The four pre-teenage girls look at me and nod, appeasing me, yes, teacher, it’s funny. Okay, next example.

“What is the difference between a jeweler and a prison guard?” Teacher, what is a jeweler? Ohhhhhh. So I explain a jeweler’s job, trying to make sure I include the words “watch” and “sale” (key to the answer). Teacher, what is prison? Hmmmmm… How can I salvage this lesson? I explain the answer, “One sells watches, the other watches cells.” And I draw my pictures on the whiteboard. Again, blank stares.

The next question. “How is candy like a government building?” Okay, let’s list all the types of candy we know: chocolate, chewing gum, marshmallows, gummy worms, hard candy, sour balls, licorice, the list goes on. They have listed every possible candy option except for “mints.” “Okay, what is that type of candy that you put in your mouth and it’s really refreshing and cool…” Blank stares. I know they have mints here. So I offer, “Mints? Yes?” Smiles, oh, yes, yes, yes. Okay. We’re getting somewhere. “Okay, and what’s the name of the government building that makes money?” Don’t know. “What about in Korean? Do you know the name in Korean?” No. “But you do have a building that makes money, right?” Maybe. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. “Well, in English this building is called a mint. Get it? Mint/mint?” Riiiiiiiiight.

I’m of the firm belief that learning needs to be relevant to the students. And this so is not. Okay, I’ll give it one more try.

“What is the difference between a thief and a seat belt?” A seat belt is safe and a thief is not safe? “Good guess, you’re on the right track, keep on. What’s it called when a thief robs you?” Bad. Very bad. “Yes, it’s bad. What is another word for the action of the thief robbing you?” Hold you down. “Almost. Hold up. So a thief holds you up and a seat belt…” Holds you down! Heeheeeheheheeeeheheeee. All four girls erupted in laughter.

I am so glad this lesson is over.

Pantyhose…

must have been invented by a man. Why would a woman think that inventing a product into which one squeezes one’s legs into tubes that almost cut off circulation is a good idea?

Pantyhose are part of my uniform now. It has been years since I have voluntarily worn pantyhose. I had forgotten the idiosyncrasies of pantyhose. Such as. Pantyhose take time, a lot of time, to put on correctly. It never happens on the first try. And you cannot rush pantyhose. It’s sort of like writing. There’s the first draft. The revision. The editing. Then the final draft when you’re ready to walk out the door.

If you try to rush pantyhose evil things happen. Your fist suddenly bursts through a seam, sending multitudes of runs down your leg. Or, worse. Pantyhose always have the last word.

I only have a five minute break in between classes now. Enough time to return to my desk, get my books for my next class, take a sip of water, and go to my next classroom. But, sometimes, just sometimes, I have to also fit a trip to the bathroom into that 5 minutes as well. Like today. I was tugging on my pantyhose, preparing to return to class. Oh, there’s the bell. Don’t have time to do the re-tug and straightening. Okay, I’m fine. And I rushed out the door.

Pantyhose don’t like to be rushed. They like to be treated gently. Gingerly. Lovingly attended to. Smoothed and resmoothed. They like to think they are the sole recipient of your attention. And, quite frankly, they should be.

As I rushed back into the teacher’s room, I could feel stares upon me. But I’m getting used to that. Everyday I am met by stares, usually from Koreans. But here were 6 American men staring at me, no one saying a word. “What?” I asked with irritation. Chanta heard my voice, turned around and burst out laughing. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak. Tears formed in her eyes. She was gasping for breath. She finally took her hands and frantically rubbed her skirt, then pointed at me. I rubbed my skirt. Or where my skirt should have been. Oh, my god. I could feel the heat radiating from my face.

Pantyhose, oh, pantyhose, oh how you have forsaken me. Was it really necessary to capture my skirt, baring my legs (et al) for the world to see?

Things Seen On The Street…

A vending machine to recharge your cell phone. For only 78 cents, you, too, can have a fully recharged battery instantly.

Needlepoint pillows of cell phone numbers suction cupped to the front windshield of parked cars – just in case they are blocking your access.

80 kilogram bag of rice for sale. Who eats 80 kilograms of rice?

Sisters…

I have a younger sister and it is only in the last few years that we have become close. It is only within the last few years that we could be in the same room and not physically harm each other. It happened about the same time that she got married and I got divorced. Go figure. Many of my friends have similar experiences with their siblings.

Here, however, siblings like each other. They play together. They hold hands as they walk down the street. They help each other do homework. I love watching this.

I teach many pairs of siblings. One particular pair that I’ve taught since coming to Korea are Annie (a quiet, shy teenager who insists on being called by her “American” name) and Sang Min, her younger sister who has long, hot pink highlights in her hair. I adore both of them. I was preparing to teach Annie’s class. One of the teachers called my attention to the monitors in the lobby. “Who teaches that class? What are they doing?” Annie and Sang Min were in Annie’s classroom. They had turned out the lights and had hid under the table. We watched curiously on the tv monitors. The bell rang, so I went to class. As I walked in, they both jumped out from under the table and rushed at me to tickle me. I could only laugh. Sang Min then rushed to her classroom, giggling hysterically the whole way. Annie often talks about how she loves to play with Sang Min. Keep in mind, Annie is a teenager. Teenagers tend to hate everything. They’re doing something right here…

The Black Market

Chanta discovered the Black Market here in Daegu last week. She promised we would go together this weekend.

This morning we caught the bus downtown. We got off at a major department store (the landmark around which my life now revolves, how sad). She walked down a street, turned down an alley, turned down another alley, then grabbed my hand. “Here, in here.” Chanta, where are you taking me? It appeared that we were walking into racks of clothes. There were things hanging as well. Chanta, are you sure…. Several hanging bags brushed the top of my head. I bent lower and followed her. All of the sudden we were in a maze of tiny shops. Small tables packed with goods. Clothes hung, layer upon layer, on the wall. I felt like Alice in the rabbit hole. Everything was packed so closely together, every possible inch of display space was utilized. Which made me feel even more like an Amazon. I bent my head and continued walking. Mostly cosmetics, some clothes, some toiletries. Chanta dashed up a narrow set of stairs. “The good stuff is up here…” We arrived at a makeshift grocery store. We marveled at the products. Products that we knew their purpose. We didn’t have to guess. Familiar brands. Labels we could read. Directions we could understand. “Look, PineSol, oooooohhhhhhhhh.” I responded as if seeing a long lost love, “PineSoooooooool.” I have never fawned over cleaning products before. But seeing that bottle of PineSol made my heart flutter. “It’s lemon fresh scent, tooooooo…” But there was only one bottle. And we both coveted it. Should we rho-sham-bo? Flip a coin? Chanta offered, “I don’t want a whole bottle, maybe you’d want to share?” Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Do you have an extra container at home? Maybe an empty spaghetti sauce jar? “Yes, I do. Perfect. Let’s share.” We made our purchase and wove our way through the warren back to the streets of Daegu.

I scrubbed my floors today. With PineSol. I’m a little scared at the amount of satisfaction I derived from said task.

This Is Why I Love So-Yae…

The 6 retired Korean men I take Chinese calligraphy lessons with have become my friends. I look forward to having coffee and lessons with them each day, even though I rarely speak. I just sit there, listening to them talk back and forth. Occasionally I will understand a phrase here, a word there, and follow along. Sometimes Mr. Lee will translate a general idea.

This morning, I had finished my first scroll of the first stroke. (I have progressed from lines to boxes to circles to stars and now I’m learning the basic strokes – there are 5). “Co-pee time!” one shouted, followed by bouts of laughter. They always make me sit in the middle of the couch, patting the seat as I walk into the room, “Miss Lori, Miss Lori.” Khamsa hamnidaaaaaaaaaa.

As we sipped our cups of coffee, they talked about a morning talk show. I’ve never seen it, so I listened quietly, gazing from speaker to speaker. Then one man began to tell a story that lasted for about 10 minutes. This is what I understood: It was cold outside so he put his jacket on backwards. He was walking, or maybe driving, and got hit by a car. Then the room erupted in laughter. I sat there. Hmmm. I must have missed the punch line.

My classmate motioned to Mr. Lee. “Miss Lori. Tell! Tell!” Mr. Lee turned to me to translate. Here’s what really happened: My classmate’s friend had to run an errand. It was cold outside so he put his coat on backwards. He got on his motorbike to ride to the store. Somehow he hit a tree and fell off his motorbike. He was laying face down on the ground. Remember, though, his coat was on backwards so the buttons on the coat were actually on his back, facing upward. A woman saw the accident and ran over to the man to see if he was okay. She saw him laying face down, but his coat was face up. She thought his head had twisted off. Screaming, she reached down and tried to twist his head around. He was still in a daze from falling off his bike and couldn’t tell her to stop. She continued screaming and tugging until he finally came to enough to make her stop.

At this point I am laughing so hard I’m in danger of spewing my coffee. “True story! True story!” all my classmates exclaim. I can’t stop laughing, which produces another bout of laughter from the old men. I love these guys…

Ladies’ Night

Michelle, Cindy and I had plans to go downtown for dinner and shopping tonight. I met them at the school at 6, we caught the bus and we were on our way. Whenever I’m with them, I feel like I’m back in junior high school. For one thing, they both look incredibly young. On Michelle’s first day at work I mistook her for a new high school student. They have such an aura of sweetness about them. We always walk arms intertwined and usually end up giggling more than talking. And, it could be the language barrier, but the topics we end up talking about are very, well, interesting. They are very curious. They want to know what type of cosmetics I use. My favorite color of underwear. What I eat for each meal. What Korean pop stars I know. Who I think is cute.

We ate first at XN Milano, a large department store downtown with restaurants on the top floors. We decided on Chinese food – yummy. Over dinner I turned to Michelle and said, “You were very upset on the way home last Friday night. In the cab. Remember? (she nodded) I don’t understand why. Could you explain?” And here’s where life imitates art once again.

The Saga Continues…

Cast of characters. Me. Mr. Drunk Dialer. Boy #1. Michelle. Cindy. Boy Teacher #1, Boy Teacher #2 (neither present Friday night)

Hierarchy. Michelle and Cindy work for Boy #1. Mr. Drunk Dialer is Boy #1’s direct boss. Mr. Drunk Dialer is Michelle and Cindy’s indirect boss. He is sort of my boss.

Michelle explained Boy #1 has a crush on me. But, he thinks I like Mr. Drunk Dialer. So he was distraught on Friday night. Because he had organized the whole evening then Mr. Drunk Dialer invited himself along. He is friends with Michelle (as well as her boss). The more he drank, the more distraught he became. He was sharing his feelings with Michelle, but started touching *her* inappropriately (in her opinion – however, in the cab, she was so upset she said he was touching *me* inappropriately), holding her arm while he spoke, etc. She was very uncomfortable.

I suggested maybe he likes *her*. She interjected that maybe, but that would do [Korean word] to her. I looked up the word. Damage. Damage? Because he’s your boss? No, because he’s a different social class. Oh. My. Okay. Continue.

Then, to make matters worse, Michelle is, as she put it, “madly in love” with Boy Teacher #1. But she just found out Boy Teacher #1 is dating someone. And she likes this woman, so she is torn. She wants to hate her, because she loves Boy Teacher #1, but she is her friend. And Boy Teacher #2 is making advances towards her. She doesn’t like him at all. But he won’t get the picture that she doesn’t want to go out with him. He asks her, she says she can’t go, he asks her for another date, she says no, he continues. So all of these culminated on Friday night and she was distraught as well. The interesting thing is that all of the women in this scene were sober, all of the men were drunk. And I still couldn’t understand it.

I’m telling you, this is a tv show waiting to happen.

Photo Op

But on to the rest of the evening. We walked through the department stores, looking at this, looking at that. Trying on sunglasses, hats, makeup. Then, they wanted to get our picture taken. What? Pictures? What do you mean? And they pulled me into a, well, Glamour Shots, but without the glamour, type of place. “Friends. Pictures. Okay?” Well, okay. So we got our pictures taken. The photographer looked at me and shook his head. Very tell. Very tall. He had to adjust just about everything. The lighting. The stool. The table. He arranged us in several poses. Click. Look. Pretty. Click. Click. Good. Click. Click. Click. Okay. Bye.

Oops, I Did It Again…

We exited the studio. I mentioned I needed to get a haircut (meaning in the next few days). Michelle and Cindy dragged me upstairs into a salon. Oh. Not tonight. Really. “No, this good salon. Very good.” But, they were closing. No haircut for the miguk tonight. Michelle and Cindy chatted back and forth in Korean, giggled, then pulled me in another direction. Where are we going? I asked. “Karaoke!” they both giggled. I’m such a bad singer. “Us, too!” No, really, I took a singing class for people who are tone deaf. heehheheheheheheee. We arrived at the karaoke establishment. Which was not a bar, but a collection of rooms. Each group got a private room, where you could sing and dance to your heart’s desire. As soon as we entered the room, Michelle started pressing the buttons. She was a pro. She had a VIP card. She knew what she was doing. Disco lights were spinning; the room was transformed into gyrating rainbows. And Britney Spears was blaring. I really am in junior high. We had 2 microphones and a yellow tambourine. Song after song after song. After they had chosen several Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Madonna, and Ricky Martin songs, I suggested we sing a Korean song. Oh, yeah! they giggled. I don’t know the name of it, but I know the tune. And the words are right there on the screen, right? How hard could this be? I think I actually sang about 25% of the song. Mostly the last syllables of words: yo, ka, sa-yo, hay. Trying to process flashing Korean characters while singing to a tune you’re not *that* familiar with – it’s a task. But it was fun nonetheless.

At one point Michelle turned to me and said, “Since Boy Teacher #1 no love me – you sing me a love song, okay?” Okay, Michelle. Unchained Melody. But it was the traditional version, not the techno rap one I normally hear in the bars here. Though, I think that would have been more entertaining – techno rap Korean Unchained Melody sung by a tone deaf miguk.

We ended the night with “Under the Sea” because they said I looked like a mermaid the first night they met me – New Year’s Eve, with all my sparkles. As we were leaving, I realized we had laughed non-stop for almost 2 hours. I thought we were heading home, but they said no, we needed to pick up our pictures. They really did turn out cute. We chose the poses we liked the best, then they printed copies for us. While we were waiting for the copies, Michelle and Cindy tried to explain the whole Valentine’s Day, White Day, Black Day, phenomenon again. And I had not even gotten half the story before.

Hallmark, You Ain’t Even Got Game

Valentine’s Day was February 14 – the day for girls to give boys candy and frilly baskets. White Day is coming up next week – March 14 – the day for boys to give girls frilly baskets. Then there is Black Day – April 14 – for people who don’t have sweethearts to go to cafes and eat Chinese black noodles and hope to meet someone. Then May 14 is Ring Day, when you give a ring to a friend, companion, or lover. In June there is Rose Day, when boys give girls a single rose. Then we jumped to December, Kiss Day. But got sidetracked because when they said the word for “kiss” it is very similar to the word for “waterfall” so I thought they were describing waterfall day and I just couldn’t understand. Then our pictures were ready.

As we were looking at them, Michelle’s phone rang. She looked at the number, giggled, and handed the phone to me to answer. “Jobsa-yoooo.” It was Jin Young from work. He had just gotten out of class at the university and wanted to join us. Minutes later he was in the photo shop with us. He looked at the photos and said in Korean that they looked pretty but that I looked like Michelle and Cindy’s grandmother. I turned to him, “Agashi, ani-o ho-monii imnida.” Old man, I am not a grandmother. I’m sure the grammar wasn’t correct, but he understood and burst out laughing. “Who is this Korean with you?” he asked Michelle and Cindy.

Ghosts In The Machine

As we were walking to his car, he was making jokes about “ghosts” in the neighborhood. Look! He would point to nothing but thin air. Meet my friends the ghosts. I began talking to the “ghosts” in Korean, using every phrase I could remember. Hi, my name is Lori. Pleased to meet you. The weather is cold. I like coffee. Turn left here. He looked at me, shook his head, then pointed again. There, American ghosts. Speak to them. English only. Michelle and Cindy nudged him. Leave her alone. Let her speak Korean.

In the car, we were talking about our favorite restaurants. Jin Young turned to me, “Do you like sashimi?” No. Not the raw fish conversation again. Please. Yes, I do. And you? “Yes, it’s my favorite.” And in unison, we both said, “I take you to eat raw fish one day.” He looked at me in surprise, Michelle and Cindy and I just giggled. The perfect ending to a perfect evening.

Not the Most Gentle Bedside Manner…

That’s how I would describe the ophthalmologist I visited this afternoon. Which isn’t a good descriptor for someone who works with eyes.

For the past several days my right eye has burned and my vision has been a little bit blurry. I had LASIK eye surgery in October and am overly sensitive about the state of my eyes. I don’t want to go blind. I also don’t want to visit a doctor that I can’t speak to. The former fear won out.

I asked Little Kim for a recommendation for an eye doctor. He told me to come to the school at 2 and he would take me. Which is very kind, but I saw the potential for problems. I think Little Kim has good intentions, but he’s not the best translator. And to ask him to translate a medical condition – see where I’m going with this?

At 2, we went to the ophthalmologist’s office. We sat in the lobby and he tried to explain the game show that was on the tv. Something about someone calling all of his friends and saying, “Come here now.” But someone is a star. Maybe the caller? Maybe a friend? Then there are many women with silver pompoms. I never understood the concept. This wasn’t making me feel any better about my upcoming conversation with the ophthalmologist.

I was called into the office. The doctor was a small man who reminded me of a gyroscope. In perpetual motion. I said hello and he looked me up and down then laughed. First I sat in one chair. What’s the problem? I explained to Little Kim, he said something to the ophthalmologist. The ophthalmologist said something back. I looked expectantly at Little Kim. “Use eye drops.” I do. Here they are (I had brought them with me in anticipation of this question). The ophthalmologist disappeared. He came back with some individual eye drop samples, like what I used in the States, but can’t find here. Little Kim gave them to me and said, ‘Here, he give to you. They bad.” What? Why are you giving me these to use if they are bad? I looked for an expiration date. “No. Not bad. Good. But expensive. So he don’t buy.” Okay.

He looked at my eyes through one machine. Then he motioned me to another chair and had me read an eye chart (with numbers, not letters). But, should I say the numbers in Korean or English? And which counting system do I use if I say Korean numbers? Il, ee, sam, sa or hanna, tul, set, net? Oh, my god. I can’t remember the word for 6. I turned to Little Kim. He said, “Read numbers. English okay.” Okay. A Korean Vanna White appeared with a long pointer. Starting with the big numbers, moving down. Towards the bottom I had trouble. I squirmed in my seat, turned my head this way and that, guessing. She pointed to one row of numbers. “Mola-yo.” I don’t know. She continued to the next row. “Mola-yo.” I still don’t know, because you’re pointing at a row that is even smaller than the previous one. The next row. “Mola-yo.” Oooooh. As long as I made a sound, she thought I was answering. That I could see the numbers. I turned to Little Kim. “I can’t see those last lines.” Okay, okay, okay.

Back to the first chair, an office chair on wheels. I sat down, the ophthalmologist asked for my hand. My hand? He put it in front of a machine and poofs! of air came out. Then he put my eye there. Each time he shot air at my eyes it stung incredibly. After each poof! I shut my eyes tightly and tried to get them to water. While I had my eyes shut he came around and spun my chair around. I had my back to the machine now. He got very, very, very close to me. He pointed straight ahead. I looked. He tugged on my eyelid and shone a bright light in my eyes. He grunted and pointed another direction. This continued for a few minutes. Ow, ow, ow. Then he went back to his chair.

He started speaking. And speaking. And speaking. For several minutes, that felt like an eternity. He wrote a few optical terms in English on a notepad: cornea, retina, photophobia, blurriness. He stopped. Little Kim turned to me. “Okay, let’s go.” Wait. Aren’t you going to tell me what he just said? “Yes. Lobby.” So we went to the lobby. “He said no big problem. Use drops for 3-4 days and if still problem, come back. Test again.” Wait a minute. I’m using drops now. Regularly. And the problem has been going on for almost a week. So how will anything be different in 3-4 days? “Wait here.” He went back to the doctor. Talk, talk, talk. Back to me. “Different test. Drops in your eyes. Check inside. Very not watching 8 hours.” Ahhhhhhh. He wants to dilate my eyes to do other tests, but not today. Okay.

As we were walking to the elevator, Little Kim said, “You. In there. Look so afraid. No problem. Don’t worry.” Yes, I guess you’re right. But it’s scary to have someone poking at you, blinding you with a bright light, and saying things you can’t understand.