Cypress-Pine in Winter

Lauren’s friends called her on New Year’s Day, asking her what she was doing and what time it was in Korea.

“I’m at work right now, in the office. It’s 2:15 pm,” Lauren said, “already Thursday.”

“What’s the future like?” Shell asked. “Can you read my fortune?”

“So, what, you’re not celebrating right now?” Bertie asked.

“No, Bertie, it’s a work day,” Lauren said. “Besides, I’ve already had my fun. I went out with my friend Gyeong-Un last night.”

“I can’t believe it,” Michelle said. “You’re in a totally different country.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lauren said.

“What’s it look like there right now?” Evelyn asked.

“Right now?” Lauren said. “It’s really white outside. There’s a lot of snow.”

“I saw your pictures on Facebook,” Shell said.

“So how much money you make there, about 1000 yen?” Bertie asked.

“Yeah, they pay me in Japanese currency,” Lauren said. She heard the others laugh at Bertie and Bertie laugh at herself. “So, what are you girls doing?”

Lauren had come to Korea to do a paid internship at a nonprofit organization in the city of Gwangju. She had been in Korea for six months and would be staying another six. This was her first time away from home. After she’d graduated from her hometown university, Bradley, she got hooked up with the job through a Korean classmate who became her friend.

One day over dinner, her Korean friend Gyeong-un said, “You had better come to Korea and see me.”

She said, “I will,” but she didn’t really believe herself.

Her friend was only there at Bradley for a short while, and she left a semester before Lauren graduated, but they kept in touch through Facebook and email.

Over the months, Lauren mentioned in passing to Gyeong-un that it was really difficult to find a job in her hometown and that her mom was giving her a lot of pressure to do something to get out of bed and out of the house.

Then one day, she saw Gyeong-un’s chat box pop up on her computer. “You know, I can help you find a job,” Gyeong-Un wrote.

“How?” Lauren asked.

“You can get a job in Korea!” Gyeong-un wrote.

“What kind of job?” Lauren asked.

“You can be an English teacher!”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not qualified.”

“Yes, you are,” Gyeong-un insisted.

“No, I’m really not,” Lauren wrote. “I’ve got a degree in Business.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gyeong-un wrote. “You can get a job at an English academy. You only need to be a native English speaker at many places.”

“But I don’t speak the language.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t understand,” Lauren wrote. “How can I teach English if I don’t speak Korean?”

“You’re going to teach elementary and middle school students, probably,” Gyeong-un wrote. “So it’s going to be easy.”

“I’m sorry,” Lauren wrote. “I don’t want to be a teacher. And I don’t think I’m qualified to teach. Thank you for trying to help, though.”

“One more thing!” Gyeong-un wrote. “There’s a job at the international center here. They want to hire a foreign intern!”

There was an exchange of emails and international phone calls with the NPO, but after a week, Lauren had the job. Even so, there were some further delays that took about a month to work out, delays involving where and when and how to send the proper documentation: diploma, criminal background check, curriculum vita, and health check. So about a month later, Lauren found herself at Incheon International Airport, meeting her friend and her friend’s father.

Gyeong-un gave Lauren a big hug, and Gyeong-un’s father took Lauren’s luggage by the handle and was going to roll it for her.

“Oh, no thank you,” Lauren said. “You don’t have to.”

“Let him,” Gyeong-un said. Then she said something to her father in Korean, and he began to roll the luggage. As he walked on in front of them, Gyeong-un said, “My dad doesn’t speak English, really.” Then she leaned in. “But if he says something in English, tell him his English is good. He’s going to like that.”

 “My mom says you’re beautiful,” Gyeong-un said.

            “Oh, thank you,” Lauren said and blushed.

She was sitting on the living room floor of Gyeong-un’s family’s apartment. Gyeong-un had put down newspapers on the large wooden table, and Gyeong-un’s brother was bringing a small gas grill over.

Gyeong-un’s mother was smiling. Then she said something to Gyeong-un.

Gyeong-un said, “She wants to know if you have any brothers or sisters.”

“I have one brother,” Lauren said. “He’s my younger brother.”

Gyeong-un’s mother nodded.

Lauren felt a little nervous and she was sweating more than usual. Plus, she felt guilty that she couldn’t speak Korean. She wondered if she would even be able to learn a new language. She was never very good at it. More than anything, she just wanted to be able to communicate and feel closer to them, Gyeong-un’s family.

Gyeong-un’s mother got up and came back with some meat and vegetables and set them on the table, and she made another trip to get plates, spoons and chopsticks. Gyeong-un’s father put the strips of meat on the grill and went into the kitchen and brought back bowls of rice in turns, and finally he came back with some beer and soju.

“Soju,” Gyeong-un’s brother said and pointed to the bottle.

Gyeong-un spoke to her brother in Korean and smacked his arm. Gyeong-un’s brother affected an exaggerated expression of pain and rubbed his arm. “You know about soju,” Gyeong-un said to Lauren

And Lauren knew about samgyeopsal. Gyeong-un had cooked this meal for Lauren before, back at Bradley. It was the first Korean dish Lauren had ever eaten.

Lauren felt compelled during the dinner to relay as much as she could to Gyeong-un’s family without being overbearing. She told the family they had a lovely home and that Gyeong-un was very smart and a good friend. Lauren said she was grateful to Gyeong-un for helping her find the

The dinner was going well. Gyeong-un’s family seemed as curious about her as she was about them. They asked her how old she was (22), what her favorite Korean food was (she hadn’t tried a lot of Korean food but right now samgyeopsal was her favorite), and what her father and mother did.

“My mom is a homemaker,” Lauren said. “And my father passed away.”

Gyeong-un’s parents looked surprised. “I’m sorry,” her father said.

Lauren was going to say in response that his English was good but thought the moment wasn’t appropriate. So she just said, “He passed away a couple months ago.”

“Oh,” Gyeong-un said. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Lauren said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Actually, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell the world. I wanted to send a message to everyone and let them know. I just sent a message to a few friends to let them know.”

“If you tell people, it’s okay,” Gyeong-un said.

“Maybe,” Lauren said. “It felt so weird, when it happened. I can’t describe it. It felt like—I don’t know. It felt like a piece of myself went away and that I needed to tell everybody. I don’t mean to sound selfish, but I wanted the world to stop and take a moment and pay attention. I thought, like, my father died and respect must be paid. But everybody just kept on doing what they were doing.” She began to cry.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Gyeong-un said.

Lauren sobbed and exhaled a breath she didn’t know could even reside in her lungs. Then she inhaled in stuttered gasps. This is what it must feel like to begin to face it square, she thought.

Gyeong-un went over to Lauren and hugged her. She rubbed her hair and told her that it was okay. She told her that when her father died, the world really did feel the loss. Lauren didn’t know if this was true but she needed to hear it.

“Hey,” Gyeong-un said. “It’s okay.” Then Gyeong-un held Lauren’s face in her hands. “You have such a small face,” she said.

Lauren laughed and rubbed at her eyes. Gyeong-un’s father handed her some tissues.

“I always said that, right?” Gyeong-un said. “You know that, right? I envy you. Really.”

“Sorry,” Lauren said.

“Don’t be sorry,” Gyeong-un said. “You know, I’m your family too.”

“What she said is true,” Gyeong-un’s father said.

“Wow, your English really is good!” Lauren said.

“He learned that phrase from TV,” Gyeong-Un said.

Lauren sat looking at the background of her work computer, a picture of some nestled tress, cypress-pine in winter. She cradled the phone to her ear.

“’What are we doing?’” Bertie repeated. “We’re thinking about you. Happy New Year, Lauren.”

“Happy New Year.”