Birds of a feather

They say birds of a feather flock together, but I never totally bought into it. Yes, I understand that for the most part, it's easiest to get along with people who are more like you than not: you have things in common; you like doing the same things. But I always thought that when it came to something as grandiose and all-powerful as love, there would be no bounds. Romeo and Juliet style. Nothing could come between them. Not friends, nor foe, nor family. Actually, that's a shitty example because all of the above did come between them and resulted in a rather tragic and untimely death for them both. So scratch that.

But I mean, think of the wrong side of the tracks kid and the poor little rich girl schtick. Like in The Notebook. It don't matter where you're from or where you've been, only where you're going (together), right?

Then I took JP's family to a little restaurant I like in Chinatown because it has yummy soup dumplings. Cheap and delicious. My favorite type of place. They didn't really appreciate the soup dumplings and their broth-oozing goodness, and the most popular dish was the fried rice and the General Tso's. This is not to say that the fried rice and General Tso's were not good; I was just sad that they didn't react the way I did when I first discovered soup dumplings. I remember the Chinatown girls took us to try soup dumplings at Moon House and Mando and I nearly peed our pants because our tastebuds were so happy.

I should probably chalk that one up to the fact that not everyone finds as much joy in the simple act of eating as I do. But given the external cues, I feel like the lack of familiarity made it a less enjoyable experience for them. It was reminiscent of trying to eat French food with my mother in Paris. She ate dutifully but without pleasure, and then thanked her lucky stars that she had had the foresight to bring along cup noodles to France lest she starve as a result of their ridiculous culinary peculiarities.

I'm not being fair. JP's family actually did eat, and they weren't picking at the food, or anything. They're way better than my mom is. She was a little brat about it and made no pretense about liking the food.

But it just made me think--and yes, I realize this line of thought is way premature-- that we have very different families. Not because either one is more or less loving, or more or less open. I was just thinking about what a family holiday might look like. Thanksgiving at the H household involves kimchi and galbi (though I did make a pretty decent turkey spread this year, if I do say so myself), while Thanksgiving at the P's probably has all of the cranberry and cornbread trimmings. We like rice cakes, they like layer cakes. Not all that different, but not exactly the same. The biggest disconnect, I think, is that my parents like spending holidays with groups of their friends, and they like to drink whiskey and wine and sing karaoke and play poker. I don't really get that vibe from JP's family.

But this isn't even about his family, specifically, but more about a hypothetical love's non-Korean family. In Korean culture, they say you don't just marry your spouse; you marry his family. I'm not sure I completely buy into that because I think if you love a man enough, you can love his family. And JP's family is very high on the lovability scale. But the Korean part of me wants my parents to be able to hang out with his parents comfortably, without feeling frus...

As I write, I am beginning to realize what a non-issue this is. I have just wasted a lot of time on this post. In the case that I fall in love with a man from a different culture, as long as both of our families are fantastic (which I'm sure they will be), they'll do fine getting along for our sakes, and I'm sure they'll recognize good people when they meet them. They don't have to be best friends or spend all their holidays together. And my family isn't really into holidays, anyway. They're just into family.

I can't say this post was a total waste, though, because it helped me realize that if I love a man enough and he loves me back, we will make it work. And if that man is JP, well, at least his dad and my dad can talk audionerd stuff.

Follow through...

Happy Chuseok

I just celebrated Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving) this past weekend. It was a full moon, and I spent it with my grandmother and grandfather for the first time that I can remember... I must have been 2 or 3 years old the last time I spent Chuseok with them.

It makes me a little sad that the people who raised me when my parents first immigrated to America are so strange to me. I've seen all of the photographs and heard all of the stories of my own childhood, but I know nothing about my own grandparents. This weekend, I learned their names for the first time. Not "halmuni" and "harabuji" but Yang Soon Boon and Kim Jin Woo. Fifty years ago, Korea was poorer than Ghana. I learned that when my grandfather was young, he moved to China looking for work because there was not enough food to eat in his village. He labored in China, and when he felt he had a little money, he took half of it back to his village in Kyungsangdo and left half with a good friend, in case he should be robbed on the way back. His friend later made it back safely as well. With the money he had saved, he bought some farmland and was able to get an arranged marriage.

My grandmother did not care for him at first; he was eight years older than she and she thought him an old man. She was only 20, and 28 seemed so far away. Considering the life expectancy at the time was under 50 years, I suppose my grandfather was middle-aged. I saw an old black-and-white photograph from their wedding. I did not recognize my grandmother, although my grandfather still looks much like his younger self. They were solemn, unsmiling, two children who hardly knew each other and were about to be committed to one another for life. And here they are, half a century later, although the dynamics have changed.

When they were young, my grandfather was stern and unforgiving. My grandmother did exactly as she was told without any complaint. Now, my grandfather is mostly reticent, speaking only when absolutely necessary... mostly to tell my grandmother to stop nagging my uncle. My grandmother, perhaps from having been silent for so many years, is constantly speaking. Sometimes she is complaining, sometimes she is nagging, but mostly she is just happy to be with the rest of the family. I don't always understand what she is staying because she speaks with Kyungsangdo saturi, a countryside accent. It is often difficult for me to understand proper Korean, so the unfamiliar accent/ dialect is particularly straining. Still, I want to know her. When I look through her photo albums, I imagine the life she once led, and it is so deliciously foreign and antiquated. What was it like to grow up in a time of war? When did she realize she finally loved her husband? What must it feel like now to have seen Korea go from rags to (nouveau) riches, from villages to cities?

Maybe I will ask.

Follow through...

Be my Valentine

Most of my girlfriends think I'm crazy, but I love Valentine's Day. It is my favorite holiday. Yes, even when I'm single. Why? I think it's because I like the idea of dedicating a day to the celebration of love and romance. I don't care if it's been adulterated by this absurd need to give expensive gifts (I mean, really, it's not like this is the only commericalized holiday we celebrate, puh-leeze). When February rolls around, inevitably, my thoughts wander to matchmaking, ex-boyfriends, and chocolate. For the past two years on Xanga, I prefaced each entry with love quotes. I think I'll mix it up a little this year. Some images, some quotes, some lyrics. I am also a self-proclaimed Valentine's Day consultant. Boys and girls: if you are having trouble thinking up things to do for your hunny, have no fear, Miss M is here! You know how in The Wedding Planner, JLo's character says "Those who can't wed, plan?" That's like me on V-day. Since I can't do anything for a non-existent boyfriend, I help plan out other people's V-days. And I send my single friends Valentine's day gifts because even those without boyfriends should know that someone loves them. (Side note: Most boys I know are amazingly devoid of creative juices when it comes to romance. I will write more on planning the perfect V-day in a later entry. Feel free to leave questions or comments if there are things you would like for me to address. Need ideas? Short on cash? What is your excuse for being a sucky and utterly uncreative bf? Or gf, for that matter?)

All too often, I think we forget that love is more than the burning desire in your loins when you see that special someone. There are so many different forms, and I don't see any reason why the other types of love are any less deserving of celebration. Familial love: how often do you tell your parents and siblings that you love them, and show it? Best friend love: whether your best friends are in relationships or not, they should be reminded that no matter what a silly man might think of them, they are wonderful and beautiful and loved. Heavenly love: I don't thank God enough for his unfailing love. The problem is, when you know you can count on something, you tend to abuse it, consciously or otherwise. Admit it. We're all guilty! Follow through...