(Written on May 26, 2021)
These days, I often think about my late mother, and memories of her keep surfacing. She passed away around this time of year. There was a period when I lived with my mom for six months. This was in early 1971, when I was in my sophomore year at Seoul National University. My health was in such a poor state then, and my mom took care of me for about six months.
From a young age, I grew up malnourished and developed a habit of overeating whenever food was available, which severely damaged my stomach early on. As a result, I suffered many health problems from childhood. By the time I entered the university, my condition had worsened due to a year of living away from home and studying for college entrance exams, during which I couldn’t afford proper meals and practically lived in study rooms. After a year of irregular student life, my stomach was completely wrecked. Whenever I ate, my stomach couldn’t handle it, and I would frequently vomit, even bringing up stomach acid. The pain felt like my internal organs were being twisted, and dizziness made it impossible to think clearly. Emptying bottles of antacid like Ampogel seemed to momentarily soothe my stomach, but as soon as I ate, it would revolt again. My active participation in protests only worsened the symptoms.
Before my mom came, I either stayed in boarding houses or worked as a live-in tutor. After she arrived, we rented a room at the top of a hill in Dongsoong-dong. Truthfully, my mom also desperately needed a break at that time. Two years earlier, she had undergone a major surgery to remove her gallbladder and wasn’t in great health. Yet, if she stayed at home, she couldn’t help but be consumed by the responsibilities of running our household and managing the family’s taffy factory.
When I handed her the money I earned from tutoring, she would use it to manage the household, and she seemed so happy. It had been her dream to run a household using money earned by her son.
"How wonderful would it be if life could always be like this," she once told me.
While living together with my mom, many unique incidents occurred, but I’ll share just two.
First Incident: Mom’s Lesson on Seoul’s Ruthless Side
When I entered Seoul National University, I had a uniform custom-made, which looked like a high school uniform. Despite its resemblance, it was high-quality material and served as a badge of identity, proving I was a Seoul National University student. I wore it constantly whenever I went out. When my mom arrived, she noticed that I hadn’t washed the uniform in ages, and it had become grimy and shabby. So, one day while I was at school, she washed the pants and hung them to dry on a clothesline in the alleyway outside our house. The top was harder to wash, so she left that alone.
When I returned from school, I noticed an unfamiliar clothesline hanging in the alley, but it was completely empty.
“Mom, what’s this clothesline for?” I asked.
“I washed your pants since they were so filthy and hung them out there,” she said.
Mom was unaware that Seoul could be a wicked city, where even with eyes wide open, people could rob you blind. Of course, you can imagine what happened next—someone had taken all the laundry. While it was a painful lesson for me, I suppose it was a cheap lesson for living in Seoul. After that, I stuck to wearing black-dyed military surplus work clothes instead.
Second Incident: Seoul’s Kind Side Shines Through
My mother was determined to help me recover my health and tried every remedy she could think of. Somewhere, she had heard that juicing the green outer leaves of cabbages could strengthen the stomach. On one side of Dongsoong-dong hill was Seoul National University’s liberal arts campus, and on the other side was Samseon-gyo Market. Every day, Mom would go to the market to collect the outer leaves discarded by cabbage vendors, crush them, and make me drink the juice with every meal.
Then one day, she came home with a whole cabbage and boiled it, telling me to dip it in soybean paste and eat it.
“Son, boiled cabbage with soybean paste is said to be a miracle for the stomach. Force yourself to eat it all,” she said.
“Where did this whole cabbage come from, Mom?” I asked.
“Well,” she replied, “the cabbage vendor insisted I take it and said, ‘Take it home and eat it.’”
It turned out that the cabbage vendor, seeing my mom come daily to gather discarded leaves, must have felt pity and gave her a whole cabbage. At the time, my mom was only 47, but she had endured so much hardship that people mistook her for an elderly lady.
Father’s Surprise Visit
Thanks to my mom taking care of every meal, my condition began improving, albeit slowly. Then one day, my father unexpectedly came to visit us. Without saying much, he started living with us. A week passed, and then another, but he showed no sign of leaving.
So I finally asked him, “Father, what about the factory? Why did you come here? What’s going on?”
He replied, “The factory runs just fine without me. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Don’t worry about me, and focus on your own life.”
Listening to him, I realized his true feelings. Without my mom, he must have been unbearably lonely and exhausted, so he had come to bring her back. But feeling guilty about taking her away from me, he couldn’t bring himself to say it outright and instead observed my reaction. It was obvious. During my absence, they must have had some back-and-forth arguments. I’m sure my mom didn’t want to return to the countryside, while my father likely kept asking her to return with him.
By that time, I had grown mature enough that my parents often consulted me on important matters. My father never demanded anything of me lightly. Their bond was so strong, and my father relied on my mother to an extraordinary degree. Thinking it over, I realized I was being selfish by monopolizing my mom when my father also needed her. Feeling guilty, I told him, “Father, I’m doing well enough now, so when you go back, please take Mother with you.”
Reluctantly, my father agreed, and a few days later, he left with my mother. Unfortunately, my health worsened again, and I eventually had to take a leave of absence and return to the countryside.
Mom’s First True Break
Later, my mother told me that those six months were the most peaceful and happy time of her life. It was the first time she had experienced real rest. Our family ran a taffy factory as a cottage industry, which demanded constant effort from every family member.
My mom’s days would begin at 4 a.m. with her and my father lighting the fires in the factory. My father would transfer the fermented malt water into muslin bags, layer them into pressing devices, and extract the sweet liquid, transferring it to large pots. This would be boiled down to make liquid taffy, which could then be further concentrated into solid taffy. This entire process lasted from dawn until 3 p.m. Then, ingredients like rice bran were rinsed, drained, and steamed into sticky rice. Warm water, malted barley, and enzymes were added to the rice and sealed in large wooden tubs overnight, allowing it to ferment into sweet malt liquid. The next morning, the malt liquid would be processed again. This cyclical process meant there wasn’t a moment’s rest.
Between factory work, my mom prepared meals for the entire family and workers, and sold the leftover malt residue to livestock farmers. While she managed breakfast, I would stoke the fires in the factory, then rush to eat and head to school. Factory work usually ended around 9 p.m., after which my mom would patch up worn-out muslin bags and mend our clothes and socks. By the time she finished, it was often midnight.
Grandfather’s Challenges
There were many times when my grandfather lived with us, which brought additional challenges for my mom. My grandfather never worked a day in his life and lived as a gentleman of leisure. By the standards of his time, he was considered a dandy. Back then, everyone wore traditional Korean hanbok, and my grandfather had a habit of never re-wearing his clothes once he had worn them. Even a speck of dust on his hanbok would lead him to snap his fingers at it, and if it didn’t come off, he would fling his clothes aside.
This left my mom with no choice but to painstakingly rip apart the seams, take the pieces to the laundry, and wash them. On cold winter days, her hands would become chapped and red from the icy water. Late into the night, she would smooth the fabric with a traditional ironing stone and re-sew the clothes so my grandfather could wear them again the next day. If she didn’t, he would lash out in anger.
Balancing the demands of the taffy factory, cooking for the whole household, and dealing with my grandfather’s whims were almost superhuman feats. As a child, I deeply resented my grandfather for the burden he placed on my mother. I had a clear sense of whom to emulate and whom not to, and he fell into the latter category. I vowed never to repeat his actions and have lived my life accordingly. My mother, of course, was my model of what to strive for.
Reflections on My Mother
A hymn often comes to mind when I think of my mother:
"How great and precious is a mother's love; it always surrounds me. When I cry, my mother prays to the Lord. When I laugh with joy, she sings hymns."
Though my mother never became a believer, she dedicated her life to praying for me every morning. She would place a bowl of clean water on the jar stand in the yard and offer her prayers to the sea god on my behalf.
These days, my memories of her flood my mind. She passed away around this time of year, and the six months we spent living together remain a deeply cherished period in my heart.
