|
Mi Soon Burzlaff |
By Mi Soon Burzlaff
Contributing Writer
I sit soaking in a hot green tea bath. I’m at the mogyoktang by my
birth parents’ home, but I’m on my own. There is an ajumma in her 40s
who has been in the bath as long as me, and I notice her staring at my
face.
I begin to feel paranoid, like I have something coming out of my nose.
I check my face, smile and give her a small bow, which she takes as an
invitation to come over to me.
A white towel around my head holds all my hair in and frames my face.
She sits as close as she can, right next to me; her leg touches mine.
She says, ``How old are you?’’
``I’m twenty-eight.’’
``Are you married?’’
``No, not yet.’’
``You better hurry! You are running out of time.’’ If I hear this one
more time, I think I will jump in front of an approaching train, but I
just calmly nod my head, hoping she will leave or at least not talk to
me anymore.
Since this mogyoktang is small, and there is nowhere else for me to really go, except out, I just stay sitting close to her.
She begins to examine my face closely, and I feel weird. She says,
``You are pretty. You have a small face. That’s very important.’’
I feel self-conscious and don’t say a word. ``But… if you just got the double-eyelid surgery, you would be much prettier.’’
In my best Korean accent I say, ``No. I don’t ever want that kind of surgery or any surgery.’’
Her three ajumma friends emerge from the dry clay sauna and join her.
Since Seoul is so crowded, private space in public does not exist.
She tells them to look at my face, and would I not be so much prettier
if I got the double-eyelid surgery. They move in closer. I feel
trapped, and want to leave, but all four of them have me surrounded.
The leader of the ajumma gang begins to lift my eyelids up and down to
show the other ajummas the before and potentially after look, ``See,
look how much prettier she would be if she got that surgery. It doesn’t
take long, and it’s very cheap.’’ They smile at me expectantly, waiting
for me to say something.
I don’t care that I just got here: it’s time for me to leave. I
painfully smile, stand up and say, ``It’s hot in here. I’ve got to go,
but okay, I’ll get the double-eyelid surgery.’’
They clap their hands victoriously, like they just won an important
match; I walk out into the cold locker room and dry myself off, while
staring at my face in the mirror.
yangmisoon@gmail.com
|
