Wednesday, Oct. 29, 2003.
Favorite Corean language site:
Sogang U.
LOOKING FOR GODIVA
This Sunday morning, my cousin (in-law) Kevin showed up at our door at 9 a.m. sharp. Dressed neat yet casual, ready to go to church with us. Looking to find God or looking for a nice available Corean girl, who knows? Either way, his parents would say he had finally found religion.
By contrast, a minute earlier I was checking email and coveting internet goddesses and sinners in my birthday suit.
I probably should have told Kevin that before telling him about my new computer. Or at least, I could have wiped my desk seat off.
“Hey Kevin. Come on in. Check out my new Alienware computer. Take a seat.”
IN THE BAND
Nine to ten o'clock was the first sermon. We always miss that one. The breakfast gets served from ten to eleven, so that's our target window. Before the wine turns back into water, and the kim chee changes back to ... cabbage?
Our church is small but you get to know the people there. Lately I haven't been feeling like going to church. But the people are the reason I do still go. I enjoyed pointing out the regulars to Kevin.
Like Blue Jini. Friendly, hyper-cute, “under thirty and unmarried,” in her own words. Which means she is 28 or 29. She's the one I'd like to set up with Kevin someday. Stylish and fun, Jini likes things she can't show at church – like tattoos and navel rings. She wanted a tattoo of “angel wings” on her lower back that would only show while “bending over in her low-cut jeans,” in her words.
“Wah! That's sek-shi!” she had explained inexplicably to Amy and myself.
Then there's Mr. Myujik, who blares his trumpet in the back of his hair products store when business is slow. He dreams of playing in a jazz club someday. But for now he practices in between sales of Black Earth Hair Care and ebene Naturals.
“That's the moksanim (pastor) on stage with the country guitar,” I said proudly as the church band started. Three ajushi (older married men) guitarists. My Corean-Brazilian cousin as the drummer (I'll explain another day). Even the piano lady was wearing hip black-tinted shades in church. (Although I'm pretty sure she has a lazy eye.)
“At my old church, they just played organ music,” Kevin confessed.
Our band rocks. We just need some dancers emulating moves from my favorite Baby V.O.X divas (picture at the top of entry).
Eventually the music stopped and the sermon of Babel started.
“Do you understand what he's saying?” I whispered to Kevin.
“About every tenth word,” Kevin answered and then asked back,
“Do you think it would be rude if we left right now?”
“I'm not sure. I usually sit in back so no one notices,” I answered.
And besides, I'm the half-Corean non-speaking sympathetic atheist guy here. I'm allowed to make colossal cultural and religious faux pas in church. I mean as long as I shrug innocently and say,
“Molluhyo.” (“I don't know.”)
At least it worked the last two times.
DOCS, LIES, and NO-ESCAPE
After sermon, my Corean teacher invited Kevin to class with Amy and me. Earlier in the car that morning, I had reminded Amy that,
“We have to tell the teacher that we're not doing this singing competition thing this Wednesday. There's no way. You have to tell her. Make up something.”
“Why do I have to tell her? You tell her.”
“Because you're the Corean-speaking full-Corean here. So, you have to tell her.”
“No, you tell her.”
“No, you tell her.”
Things didn't go quite according to plan in Hanguk hakkyo (Corean class) that day though.
"Today we practice song for Wednesday," the teacher said passing out hymn books.
I shot Amy a quick glance. She glanced back. I nodded to her to break the news. She nodded back. I sent her a volley of serious glares and she volleyed them back like an eight-armed Serena Williams.
Stand by your man, my ass (“ass” in the Biblical sense of course). Isn't there something in the Bible about obeying your husband? While I'm on the subject, I would bet that 7 out of 10 guys are thinking about “oral sex” every time they hear that “obey your husband” vow, regardless of the context.
The other three guys are thinking about “anal.”
But I transgress….
"Uh, I don't think we'll be able to make it on Wednesday," I cleared my throat for the impending lie that was about to come out of it.
“Wehyo? Why not?”
“Well, I think I'm on call that night. And I have to work late, you know, emergencies and sick patients and hospital stuff. I don't know when I'll get done. There's a good chance I won't get out in time,” I used the classic doctor's note excuse, only as the doctor this time.
One of the perks of being a physician is the “on call” excuse. No one really knows what you mean by “on call,” since it can mean just about anything, like the word “rounds” in the hospital. So when you don't want to go out, you just shrug dejectedly and say,
“Sorry, I can't go out. I'm on call that night. Saving lives and stuff. You know how it is.”
The “on call” excuse is tighter than four-point leather restraints on a psych patient. One would think.
“Oh no…. You must come. Maybe you could bring your cellphone to church then? Or switch schedules? Or change clothes at church?”
“I … don't think … that's possible,” I sounded as uncomfortable as I felt.
“But what are the chances you could make it? Fifty-fifty?”
“Mmm… yeah, I guess, maybe. I'm not really sure.”
I could see Kevin was trying not to laugh. And Amy was about as beneficial as a hammer at the Crucifixion.
As torturous as this situation was, neither of us wanted to do this singing competition. I might have been prepared by Thanksgiving as originally planned (at least that was another month I could put it out of mind). But Amy couldn't even read the Corean words in the hymnal yet. And I just don't sing (in public). And certainly not for “points” or “competition.” (I can belt out a couple Lee Jung Hyun tunes though. Badly.)
“Please try to go to the singing competition this Wednesday. Bring Sun Su. You and Amy hold hands and sing as a family. Please try to come.”
“Ahh… I'll … try?”
“I hope you can make it. I will pray hard for you to come,” the teacher said sincerely, but with a vulnerability I wasn't expecting to bear. I mean, hear.
ATONE DEAF
After my attempt to dodge the whole sinning, I mean singing thing, the teacher took us to the empty sermon hall to practice more. She tried playing the piano but it was woefully off key this time.
“I can't see very well in this light,” she said adjusting her glasses, making herself seem older than she looked, in my opinion. Yet she persisted. Playing out of key in the dim light practicing for a competition none of us wanted to be in.
I sang in my usual small voice while Kevin and Amy tried their best to follow along. But I was the only one who could really sing all the words. I don't even really know what they all mean. The English “translation” does not match up with the Corean lyrics at all. Half of the words aren't even in my dictionaries. But still, you kind of know.
Maybe it finally hit her. Maybe she realized we didn't really want to be doing this. Or maybe it just wasn't meant to be. The church lights not working. The out of tune piano. Signs.
After a couple of runs through the song, my teacher called it quits and ended the class early. She didn't ask about Wednesday again. Just said, see you next time.
I said thank you respectfully.
“That didn't go so well. I feel really guilty now,” I said in the car ride back home. A guilt-laden atheist? Isn't that sort of an oxymoron, like British humor?
“Did you know that there's a commandment that says you shall not covet your neighbor's manservant, maid, bull, or donkey?” Kevin read aloud.
Well, I guess I shall not be coveted then. Because I'm feeling like a total ass.
Losing faith in yourself is one thing – this has been happening a lot with me lately. But having someone else lose faith in you is an entirely new level of non-existence.
If there is a God, I don't envy her job. I'll bet her “on-call saving lives ” excuses never work either.
No innocent shrugs while saying, “I don't know” would do this time. Because this time, I did know. I knew exactly what I had to do.
“Araso,” I told myself.
(“I understand.”)
"I changed my mind," I told Amy.
To be continued next entry.
