Mother, when you were pregnant with me, you told me once when I was a child, your doctor had counseled you to terminate the pregnancy because the fetus was so weak and might be born prematurely, thereby possibly endangering your own life. But you refused to listen to his advice and risked your own life to bring me into this world. You were so happy and proud to have a second son after five daughters.
When you had given birth to the fifth daughter, dad brought home his second wife, whom we called "small mother," to live with us. I believed we had to call her small mother as a gesture of our approval of her being a mother, yet to recognize your seniority in the hierarchy. Though you were a lawful wife to my father, you couldn't oppose the unjust and humiliating circumstances brought upon you, because you couldn't bear a male child to succeed his family lineage in that Confucian patriarchal society.
Unfortunately for you, your first son, who was my elder brother, was born only after our small mother had moved into our house. But he also died at an early age like my three other elder sisters of our nine siblings. I learned much later that infant mortality was very high and prevalent in those years.
When dad gave little attention to you, then had less concern about your children for that matter, you decided to earn a living by yourself to support us. One of the many jobs you did was guarding rice paddies against thieves at night before harvests ― a hard job even for a tough man. I wished I had been born a bit earlier and was there with you on those desolate nights.
Mother, I know you never had a formal education in your life. This was because you grew up in the old traditional society of Confucian ideology when women were discouraged from learning anything but the maternal duties at home. But you couldn't tolerate illiteracy and taught yourself how to write and read our amazing language, "Hangeul," and also some Chinese characters. As a result, we enjoyed writing to each other when I was working away from home. And, later in your life, you indulged yourself in reading those Buddhist scriptures, the words of Buddha with your thick glasses on. It was one of the most admiring images of you that I still bear in my mind.
When the Korean War broke out, I was a senior in high school. Dad suddenly became ill with an unknown disease and died shortly before the war. You were utterly devastated by the loss of your husband and breadwinner, but you never lost your courage. You started peddling wares across the country to feed my two little brothers. It was a painful job you had never done in your life. You had to travel, often on foot, all the way to the southwestern province of Jeolla, to the granary to trade the tin wares you carried with their grain ― the bare necessity for survival.
When I got my first teaching job at a high school after the war, you were so proud of me and had a new suit made for me as a gift. I still have a vivid memory of that grayish-green color of the suit. I was so excited about my first tailor-made suit but didn't think about how it came about. Although you had never said a word about how you got the money, I knew you couldn't make that much money overnight. Over the next few months, I saw you working on your sewing machine constantly day and night. Then you fell ill for days.
Ever since I was born, your primary and enduring concern about me was my poor health, frailty and possibly, short life. When you went to the temple, I knew your prayers to Buddha were only for my good health and longevity. Then, finally, you even swore off smoking, your only enjoyment, in exchange for my longevity. When you died at age 84, I was at your bedside. I held your hand, which was still holding the prayer beads that you had counted ceaselessly all your life.
Yi Woo-won (yiwoowon1988@gmail.com) lives in Waegwan, North Gyeongsang Province and has been writing since 1986.
QOSHE - To my great mother - Thoughts Of The Timesaccount_circleinfobrightness_mediumcancel
Mother, when you were pregnant with me, you told me once when I was a child, your doctor had counseled you to terminate the pregnancy because the fetus was so weak and might be born prematurely, thereby possibly endangering your own life. But you refused to listen to his advice and risked your own life to bring me into this world. You were so happy and proud to have a second son after five daughters.
When you had given birth to the fifth daughter, dad brought home his second wife, whom we called "small mother," to live with us. I believed we had to call her small mother as a gesture of our approval of her being a mother, yet to recognize your seniority in the hierarchy. Though you were a lawful wife to my father, you couldn't oppose the unjust and humiliating circumstances brought upon you, because you couldn't bear a male child to succeed his family lineage in that Confucian patriarchal society.
Unfortunately for you, your first son, who was my elder........
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