“I know why they’re having the wedding at 7 o’clock,” Amy said as she drove.
I listened as I took a picture of the giant Uniroyal tire.
“So they don’t have to serve food,” Amy complained.
Corean church without food? Heaven forbid.
Five years ago, before we moved, we went to Corean church … religiously, just not for religious reasons. I went for the Corean community and language lessons. Amy went for the food, but she made a lot of friends too.
Also around that time, I learned that I had two actual Corean cousins of my own on this side of the globe (edit: they actually introduced me to this church). Technically, they would be Corean-Brazilian cousins since they had lived in Brazil. Things didn’t work out well while they stayed at my mom’s house, mostly due to her bat-shit soap operatic paranoia. By the end, my mom was trying to convince me that due to some “family secret,” they weren’t my real cousins after all. Show’s been cancelled, mom. Move along.
So five years later, or last month, the younger cousin had found me on Facebook and invited us to his wedding at the church we all used to go to. I was ecstatic.
“We used to bring you to this church when you were two,” I told Sun Su after another church stranger tried pinching his cheeks.
“I don’t remember,” he said.
“They do.”
We found my long lost cousin Sang Yong, the groom, getting ready. He was still his unassuming self with his gentle heart on his sleeve. He actually looked a little taller and his face filled out more. Our heads do seem to swell the older we get (as seen below – BOO! – thanks, Sun Su).
I was kind of emotional – seeing someone whom you had been through a lot with (thanks mom), liked a great deal, and thought you might never see again kind of emotional. My usual no-hugs reflex was suppressed. I wanted to hang out with him and his brother again, playing Tekken Tag while talking about how America, Corea, and Brazil differ in their refreshing opinions. My young blood-cousin couldn’t help but hold my hand out of joy – which I slipped out of twice by reflex – and regretted almost instantly. I was happy and sad at the same time, because I knew this was probably the other bookend to all that, his new life just an hour away, on one of the biggest nights of his life. He got pulled away to the business of marriage, apologizing to me as he went.
That was really the last time I got to talk to my long lost cousin that night.
We saw a lot of familiar faces, but more unfamiliar faces. Their expressions were the same as the first few times I walked into that church by myself many years ago, “What’s the Jewish-looking guy doing here?”
The pastor (moksahnim) we had known had left months before, but he returned to perform the wedding service tonight. He had taken a special duty to get us involved with the church so long ago – I suspect he knew my faith was never in things in heaven. I do believe in angels … and devils … on earth.
Sun Su’s female counterpart (above) remembered him, “Oppa?” Sun Su wasn’t so sure. She had made me wish for a girl back then and then we had one. Maybe this will be the foreshadowing of a marriage made in a Corean melodrama.
Familiar faces. We saw the Corean from Uzbekistan, dating the half-Corean single mom. Blue Jini had a kid at foot and another bun in the oven. The ajumma (older married lady) I used to see at the gym gave me an uncomfortable amount of attention, even when Amy was there. You just can’t teach an old cougar new tricks.
(Someone’s parents pictured below.)
The teacher with enunciation more proper than her spectacles recognized us. In the years since, she had gotten vertigo and lost hearing in one ear. But her unflinching honesty rang clear as a bell.
“Your kids look very Corean. That is good,” she said.
It was more empathy than insult. You’re only treated as Corean as you look. It’s a plain simple fact I learned over many years of trying to fit a half-Corean peg into a full Corean hole (for once, this is not a double entendre). People who know you may be an exception, but otherwise it’s as simple as that.
“Sang Yong (the groom/cousin) looks good. He doesn’t look like a skinny little boy anymore,” Amy said.
“No, skinny much better. Too fat,” the teacher corrected with a shake of her head that could have set off her vertigo.
I also remembered that the number of Coreans in a room is exponentially proportional to how fat you feel.
The wedding wasn’t too big. The kids got pretty bored since it was all in Hanguk, but I missed that droning boredom – just looking around at these people from the back bench. The bride was stunning. My cousin was handsome.
The bride and groom had to stand up there for an inhumane amount of time though. Songs were sung – songs that I could read from the pages but yet, not understand their meaning.
There was a lot of whooping and hollering near the end, Jerry Springer style. The kiss was small and sweet and timed for the camera shot, Corean style.
Afterwards, there was a huge dinner. Just like always.
Youths crooned K-pop R&B ballads to the bride’s and groom’s table like it was the last round of Corean Idol. The tables were separated into the traditional men’s tables, women’s tables, and kid’s tables. We ended up at the women’s table, as usual. You just can’t teach an old half-Corean new tricks.
At one point, I lost my seat to a little boy. I smiled to myself and sat on the bench in the back. Sun Su insisted on sitting with me on the bench too despite an open seat next to umma.
“Is all of this Corean? It looks Chinese,” he asked.
“It’s not Chinese. This is all Corean. All of these people are Corean, like you,” I answered.
“But we’re not Corean,” my boy said, “not completely.”
I leaned in close to him, “If you’re part Corean and you look Corean, then you are Corean.”
He nodded.
I repeated, “You are Corean….”
… Enough.
After a few more bites, another little boy came up to me on the bench,
“Sorry my brother took your chair. He’s out now. You can have your chair.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m alright here now.”
I think I know why people cry at weddings now.
[Note: Most of these pics were taken by Sun Su. I sent him on a Secret Asian mission.]
