me & my halmeoni
my elderly downstairs neighbor and i have begun a beautiful friendship. from the first day i arrived here, she has greeted me warmly in korean each time she sees me, and offered help in any way that she can.
before i moved in, she told my boss (whom she met while he was securing my apartment for me) that despite her lack of english, she felt sure that we would be able to communicate regardless — and she was right.
when i could not explain to my indignant landlords that my hot water was, indeed, broken, she stood in my apartment and glared at them, and shot me sympathetic looks.
when i could not decipher the buttons on my washing machine, she came to my door (she must have heard the swearing, and i hope she could not understand it), and motioned for me to use her machine instead. (i figured out the washing machine, but that is another story for another day.)
when i hung my first load of laundry out to dry, only to hear rain pattering on the windows an hour later, i ran outside to find my pants pinned to a hanger near her door beneath my balcony, safe and dry. later, they turned up on my doorstep, neatly folded in a hyundai department store bag.
when i borrowed my friend’s bike and left it locked outside over a drizzly weekend, i came home to find the seat covered in a plastic bag.
when i tangled a bungee cord in said friend’s bike spokes on a sweltering afternoon, she emerged from her apartment wielding pliers, and her and her elderly friend promptly fixed it. when it was freed, we jumped around shouting all the phrases in korean and english we knew.
“number one!” she yelled. “korea fighting!” i yelled, and we slapped eachother on the back.
when i arrived home late one night after that, she was giving her grandson a dinner of freshly-caught clams and lemonade, and via his english translation (most children here go to english school), she invited me in for dinner and fed me, too. (and, like many koreans, she watched with a mix of incredulity and admiration as i wielded chopsticks with a modicum of grace and poured on the hot tteokbokki sauce without wincing.)
clearly, i love this woman.
so after i had learned to introduce myself properly (chonun ryan imnida!), i was excited to finally be able to ask her what i should call her. she pointed to herself with a smile and said what i hoped she would say:
할머니.
halmeoni.
grandmother.
in korea, you can use this term to address most women over the age of 50 or so. as far as i can tell, young women, young waitresses and young mothers are oh-nee, and matrons are ajumas, while women like my neighbor are halmeonis. but i wanted her permission before i went about calling her old, obviously. and i was close with both of my grandmothers, who virtually raised me and treated me with the same level of consideration and care as she does, so “grandmother” has a special and specific meaning for me personally.
anyhow, i was thrilled to be able to call her my grandmother, as i already thought of her this way, and set about finding a way to thank her for this, and for her many other kindnesses.
my korean friends they told me that in korean culture, you used to give your neighbors a plate of 떡 (tteok, or rice cakes), which are considered healthy and practical (two major korean virtues when it comes to gift-giving). the plate — which should not be styrofoam, but a real piece of dishware from your kitchen — then gives them an excuse to visit again, usually bearing a present of their own.
“These days, this custom is slowly disappearing, as more and more people prefer to live ‘anonymously’ in their apartment complexes,” my korean friend explained. “For those who still stick to this custom, they are always given the warm response.”
perfect, i thought.
this friend also told me how to properly thank my halmeoni in korean:
신경 써 주셔서 감사합니다
shin-kyong ssuh ju-shuh-so gamsa-hamnida!
(thank you so much for taking care of me!)
i carefully copied this down, placed it on a plate of 25 different colorful rice cakes, and handed it to her with a deep bow the next morning. i also translated my name into hangul (라이언) so that she would know how to say it later on.
tteok, similar to those i gave to my halmeoni. (photo by hong kong explorer)
at first, she refused to take the tteok (korean etiquette), but i made a big show of having to move along to my job. she knows that i am a sangsangnim (teacher) at a hagwon (academy), so i just winked at her and said, “hagwon!” and strolled out of our shared yard, leaving her holding the cakes.
and of course, she ONE-UPPED ME IMMEDIATELY. when i returned home that day, on a sweltering evening, she appeared at my door with my plate.
on it: a perfect bunch of freshly-washed, tart, deep violet korean grapes. (see above.)
touché, halmeoni. touché.
(epilogue: later, her adult daughter came to visit, and in halting english, said, “oh, your korean is very good! i am so glad you are here to watch over my mother.” i shook my head. “no way!” i said. “it is the other way around.” not sure if she understood the idiom, but i think she understood the sentiment.)
so now i have to think of a new and lovely way to keep the exchange going. i welcome suggestions!
