YANGPYEONG FALL JOURNAL | WEEK 2

September 28 Entry

After my morning walk, I received a text message that someone who is dear to me maybe fighting some sort of debilitating disease. I can’t share it in words, since this is not my story to tell. Shaken and shocked, I felt dismayed. Over zoom, we held the person in our prayers with one other person. 

We had circled today to visit Yangpyeong traditional open market that opens every 5th day, the dates that end with numbers 3 and 8. Since we had time during the day, we thought it would be prudent to go and fetch some assorted Kimchi and whatever looks good in our line of sight (which is dangerous) as we anticipate hosting some people over the weekend. The problem is my eyes are moving 100 miles an hour, scanning like Jason Bourne (I can be like Jason Bourne when it comes to food), and command my servant mind to buy most of everything my bossy eyes see. Since this was our second time visiting (we visited once during spring), other than the seasonal fruits and vegetables, most other vendors, stalls, and shops looked recognizable, so I maneuvered around as if I had the kind of familiarity that locals have. We walked the entire market, which was not small by any stretch of the imagination, and took mental notes as to what we would buy in the order which would allow us to carry the least in our hands before heading back to our light car.

Unlike last time, we came prepared, with a colorful Trader Joe’s bag that fits well with many of the elderly grandmas’ color-clashing pants. First, we bought some mandus (steamed dumplings) for ourselves and for our host. Last time, we had to wait in line for 20 minutes. Only 5 minutes today, so I was not going to miss the short line. Our main task was to buy a couple of Kimchis. But on the way, I predictably got sidetracked and bought some assorted Jeons (pan-fried meat, fish, and vegetable coated in flour and eggs). I remembered from our spring visit the older lady (할머니) who sold Pa-Kimchi (small green onion Kimchi) that we and our guests enjoyed a great deal. I was disappointed the lady was not there today, but we found another older lady selling Kimchi. As we were standing in line, the man in front of us, without our asking, turned toward us and freely offered us a comment that this lady’s Kimchi is the best in the market, hands down. Whether that is true or not, we will be the judge of that, but for now, his promotion did a convincing job of our buying a couple of Kimchis, Pa-Kimchi and Yeolmu-Kimchi (young radish water Kimchi) without the radish but only the leaves. We were told by the lady that she and her husband farmed the vegetables. Great, I thought, from the farmer to the chef to the happy eater. 

As we sat down finally to get some lunch, since it would have taken me a long time to make a decision where to eat, I “wisely” relied on my wife this time. She chose beef rice soup. So cheap but so good. Later tonight, the whole market scene will be back to normal, a parking lot as if this whole commotion was nothing but an illusion. The tables and stools featured at the food stalls are the worn blue portable plastic kind, and toilet tissues are hung from the tent as serviceable napkins. Ingenious improvisation. Makes so much sense if you stop imagining and can get over the thought of using toilet tissue to wipe your mouth. The soup arrived less than 30 seconds later, steamy hot. As we sat down to devour our meal, I received a text message from another friend that his surgery (very involved and possibly life-threatening) is scheduled for tomorrow, which I had known and had been praying about. I responded to the text by telling him that I would stand in prayer with him and for him and that I would like to see him well in person once I get back to the US.

Maybe it was a food coma, but I must have sleepwalked over to the long line in front of a booth selling Sundae (Korean blood sausage consisting of glass noodles and other spices). My wife detests the smell of it, so she decided to stand afar while I was mindlessly waiting. I waited for 30 minutes for about 3 dollars worth of food. I could overhear people passing by murmuring what the line was for. When they found out it was Sundae, some shook their heads and walked away, but some decided to join in line while all were disbelieving and curious about what the deal was. Contrary to my expectation, the sundae was disappointing. I basically got sucked into the capitalistic phenomenon that if there is a long line, it must be good. I am sure my standing in line convinced some other people to wait in line. I got a good chuckle out of the experience while my patient wife simply smiled. Great to know that my wife still loves me after all that waiting and disappointment.

We ended up buying some apples, avocados (Koreans do not eat avocados much), and carrots and made our way back. Our fridge is full to the brim now. A moratorium is in full effect on grocery shopping for now. 

All the while, I am thinking and praying for the two friends for today and tomorrow. Life happens to us more than we make life happen. Even when we think we are in control over our lives, perhaps we really are not, ultimately forcing us to surrender. I suppose the question is, where or to whom do we surrender? If yes to surrender, surrender is not some sort of fatalistic assent of whatever will be, will be, and thus void of hope, but one with great hope and expectation. And that living this life is good, and has great purpose. And the One we surrender to and trust is ultimately good and kind, as the One does not know anything else.