Minkyu Shim
Grand-aunt's Winter Banchan
Nonfiction
by Minkyu Shim
I stepped off the blue town bus of Pohang, and the way to the entrance of the old
fifteen-floor apartment shrivels under the frozen leaves of winter. Across the apartment,
a few opened-up trucks are filled with gyuls and strawberries, surrounded by ah-jummas grabbing fruit with red and green baskets in their hands. Plastic traffic light
covers are coated by the previous night’s snow while the frost of the day started
to melt under the dangling sunlight. Heading into my grand-aunt’s apartment, I saw
the security office with its “On Patrol'' sign while the security ajeoshi snores in his chair, his hat pressed softly on his forehead covering his eyes. The
gate’s frozen door lock is still there, though it has remained unlocked for the past
few years. After going up the stairs and stepping inside the elevator, I pressed the
11th floor, and the dust of Pohang’s winter flitted through the closing doors.
The eleventh floor always had our neighbor’s rusting orange bicycle resting against
the stairs. Slightly knocking on the door, I press the password on Grand-aunt’s lock
and open the front door. As I entered the house, one pink flower sneaker, and another
purple tattered shoe to match lay down neatly on the entrance. The house was shaded
by the sunlight, and Grand-aunt’s favorite music wafted from the old vinyl player.
Heading into the living room, I saw her in the kitchen cooking. She had yet to notice
I was there, because of the loud music playing. It felt like her hair got even grayer
and her height became shorter. Walking quietly up next to her, I give a tap on Grand-aunt's
shoulder and surprise her, “Halmoni!”
“Ummuh! Dongeun, how come you’re so early today?” Grand-aunt said, grabbing my hands.
“Halmoni, it’s me Minkyu.” I have called her Halmoni since I was young. “Dongeun is
uncle's name” Hiding my confusion, I corrected her.
“Oh sorry Minkyu, I struggle to remember things these days.”
Even though I knew she was slowly getting worse at remembering, these moments always
felt so bad. Giving her a small smile, I acted like everything was okay.
Grand-aunt gestured me to the sofa, wiping off the strewn trails of dust from it.
Although it has been a few months since I visited my Grand-aunt’s house, this brown
sofa always made me feel like I’m back in elementary school, when I would sit on it
and watch television for hours. The antique drawings of mountains that looked like
they were from the Chosun dynasty were placed on top of the TV, and the old vinyl
player sat next to the television as usual. Next to that was a bookshelf with all
the awards Halabuji achieved from his studying, and a picture of him hanging on the
wall. Every time I visited my Grand-aunt’s house, my Grand-uncle, whom I called Halabuji, was always reading a book in the
living room or studying in his own room. However, whenever we went into his room to
invite him to the dinner table, he would always smile and walk together with me to
the kitchen. Probably Halabuji’s death made Grand-aunt’s memory loss far worse. Halabuji’s
blue harlequin tie and the beige checkered blazer were still hanging in front of his
door, and the scent of him still remained next to the dusted ashtray on the balcony.
As if she is trying to recall her memories with him, Grand-aunt would sometimes stand
and stare at Halabuji’s empty room.
“Minkyuyah try this, I made it this morning.” Grand-aunt handed me a few banchan’s on a plate.
“Halmoni, how come your banchans are always so delicious!” I told her a mouthful
of her jinmichae, chewing the shredded squid. Then, I realized I forgot about what I picked up from
the market on the way here, Grand-aunt’s present.
“Also, I picked this up from Mr.Lee’s market just for you.”
“What is it? Open it for me.” Removing the yellow ribbon I asked for in the market,
I pulled out a box of strawberries and a few Korean tangerines Mr. Lee gave us for
free. Grand-aunt and I always loved eating Korean tangerines, lying under the heat
blanket she would always place on the floor of the living room. As expected, Grand-aunt
loved the tangerines more than a box of strawberries and she began peeling a tangerine
as soon as she saw them.
“Please thank Mr. Lee for the tangerines for me.” Grand-aunt said, handing me the
halved tangerine.
***
A few weeks after my visit to Pohang, my Grand-aunt was admitted to a hospital in
Seoul. Appa told me to go to Pohang and make sure the apartment was well-cleaned for
the time being. The three-hour train ride and a few minutes on the bus never felt
so long, but today was different. The frozen leaves on the streets undulated under
my feet, my knees felt weak every time I passed by them. The breeze of Pohang’s winter
winnow through the pavement and the frost of the day froze my hands. The squeak of
the old apartment entrance bent through my earphones while the windows of the apartments
clouded alongside the bitter temperatures of December.
Entering Grand-aunt’s house, there was no longer nostalgic music from the old vinyl
player, the clatter of the knife knocking on the cutting board, or the bubbling of
the warmed-up pots starting to boil. It was the first time seeing the brown sofa dusted
and folded but still sagged gently in the very center as if someone had been sitting
on it for years. The sound when I grabbed a chair from the kitchen echoed through
the house. Distilled inside the reverberating resonance were Grand-uncle’s ashtray
and his checked blazer, Grand-aunt’s pink flower shoes, Mom and Dad’s wedding picture
next to my baby picture, the scent of dried banchans and leftover tangerines, and
the hissing of my faded childhood with Grand-aunt.