What Numbers Say
By Kim Heung-sook
My mother turned 80 last week. If she'd been born elsewhere, she'd be 79, but here in Korea you count your age from the time you settle in your mother's womb. So, my mother is 80, even if she was born in the year 1930.
Mom didn't want to celebrate her birthday ― or so she said ― but she has five grown-up children and their spouses who insisted on doing something special to mark the day. So, the entire family ― except her youngest son-in-law who was busy ― got together for a full-course Chinese lunch to which everybody made due contributions.
``It's quite all right to live to 80," she said afterwards, adding quickly, ``though the next years will be downhill all the way." Despite her somber statement, I could tell she was happy with what her children did for her on her birthday.
My number is only 100, and so, instead of celebrating it with a full table, I would like to commemorate it personally: This is the 100th ``Random Walk," which I started five years ago without thinking too much about its future or mine. I still remember the chaotic state of mind I fell into after saying ``yes" to The Korea Times' repeated calls to start a column. I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing.
The first article appeared right in this space on March 5, 2004. Some of my readers may remember the article entitled, ``Who Am I?" There, I was complaining about my name for the difficulty of balancing ``heung (興)," meaning ``prosperity," with ``sook (淑)," meaning ``calm, clear water." Keeping a balance between conflicting elements, or harmonizing them, would make the initial step toward infinite freedom, but the very first step is always the hardest.
Looking back, I find it almost ridiculous to complain about my name, having come to understand that a name, no matter how easy it sounds to live with, doesn't guarantee an easier life. My mother's is a good example. Her name is ``Choon-mae," meaning ``spring-ume (or Chinese plum)." The two letters are not conflicting at all, yet her life had been much more rugged than mine.
In the beginning, this column appeared once every three weeks, but soon it was printed biweekly. While my column lived on owing much to the tolerance of the host paper and readers, some of the subjects I wrote about, or intended to, died during the past five years, and I sometimes had to use my inches for obituaries. Among the great losses were Susan Sontag, the American writer and intellectual warrior, and Park Kyong-ni, the Korean writer, both of whom I admire.
On a personal note, I've lost a few close people, including Bang Tae-yung, a former editor of The Korea Times; Park Kun-woo, a former ambassador to the United States; Kim Eun-jeong, the beloved daughter of a dear friend; and ``Kkomi," my canine companion of 15 years. Losing a friend is creating a grave inside you. Death comes to you when you feel too heavy with all the mounds that the departing ones have left with you. While I have suffered irrevocable losses, I have also gained new friends through this column, who enlighten or cheer me up.
A reader recently commented that my focus seemed to have shifted over the past year from something lyrical to socio-political issues. If she is right, it probably is because I have felt a growing need to speak about the direction in which this nation and the world as a whole are headed. In a nutshell, we have been going in the wrong direction. These days, I often think about the German poet and playwright Bertolt Brecht, who said it was hard to write lyrical poems in his time.
Now, as I begin a new chapter of this column, should I return to so-called soft topics, or delve into hard issues? I may be wandering; this column is ``Random Walk" after all. I am not sure if I can follow my mother's example and say, ``It's quite all right to write to the 100th." What I know for sure is that 100 is only a number like 80, and what these numbers signify, at best, is that we are still alive. Once we are dead, people stop counting.
So, I will keep busy living like my mother who, on her 80th birthday, decided to study English, perhaps to read my column someday. I don't want to disappoint her when she joins my readers, whose support has pulled me this far. Thank you very much, dear readers. Special thanks to those who have emailed me agreement and/or disagreement.