The Immigrant Family

The Immigrant Family

Emily Ra (Written: May 22nd, 2010 - still writing)


CH1: Year 2005.



    “Well, it’s very sunny. That’s for sure.” Cathy cupped her right hand over her slightly frowning eyes.
    “Yes, that’s why I am telling you: We have to go.” Jen, now somewhat irritated because she had repeated this several times, spat the words impatiently.
  
 I don’t know how long they have been arguing like this. It didn’t matter, they won’t stop anyhow. Cathy and Jen have been arguing since even before they knew how to speak. So many disagreements and yet they sat there on the porch side by side, not much further than an inch apart from each other. They never came to a conclusion. Cathy was always so afraid of everything, slow and careful in taking every step. Jen was always fierce and restless. I don’t know how they got along, but they’ve been getting along for all their lives. Although that’s not much, just 13 years.

    I just liked watching them. It was amusing; funny, even. How such different characters could be so compatible with each other- I wouldn’t ever know.

    “Emily, come!” Mom called from the kitchen. She was always calling me. Everyone seemed to live in a two dimensional world, where each had a flat, predictable task to do everyday: Cathy doubting everything that she ever came across, Jen scolding every word that came out of Cathy’s mouth, and Mom always needing help.

    “What?” I dragged the question hesitantly out from deep inside of me.

    “Read this.” It was a letter from Jonathan’s school. It’s written in English. Mom needed me to read it and tell her that it was nothing- as always. “It must be important, it’s printed on orange paper.”

    Doubting that anything written on that piece of paper had any importance in my life, I took the paper. I was slightly annoyed that I was doing a “Mom’s Job.” Why couldn’t she just learn English? Why should a parent depend on her child to do her task? I quickly skimmed through, radiating frustration at Mom. Mom didn’t seem to notice, she was just impatient that it took me so long to say anything about the letter. “It says, you need to come for a open house day at school.”

    “Why, did Jonathan cause trouble? Is he not doing well?” She pecked questions at me like a woodpecker would. Obviously she didn’t understand what ‘open house’ meant.

    “No!” Realizing that the response came a little too sharply, I softened my voice, “they just want you to come and watch how the classes work. You know, to know Jonathan’s doing well.”  I glanced at Mom pitifully, as she took the orange paper back from my hands and nodded at it as though she understood everything written on it.

    “Cathy! Jen!” Mom shouted, triumphant that she finally got the orange paper out of her head, “dinner!”

    It wasn’t until Mom chased after them and shouted the same phrase three times, that Cathy and Jen finally considered dinner. They didn’t make it to the park. Where Jen was hoping to go play until they were hungry, or they saw the sun set. They were arguing for an hour and now the day was darkening around them, already. They hurriedly came inside, still arguing, as Mom was almost fuming.

    When we settled to eat, Jonathan came home. He’d been out practicing something. Guitar, jujitsu, soccer-who knows, really? He was the fourth child of the house, and by the time he was born, everyone had their own, busy life to give him the attention he may have received if he was the first child like me. Although, all that attention was not that enjoyable at all, just burdensome, that’s all.

    “Hey, Johnny” Cathy and Jen said at the same time, and started to giggle. Stopping their life-long arguments for a short while.

    “Welcome home.” I said, flatly.

    “Jonathan, eat!” Mom demanded.

    “Wait, I need to take a shower first.” Jonathan went out of sight, and short while later, strong jet of water bouncing off the walls of the shower sounded. Must have been soccer. He always takes showers after soccer. Otherwise, he’s usually hydrophobic.

    “Mom, this is too salty.” Cathy said, as she pushed away a plate of vegetables.

    “I think it’s okay,” I shoved the chopstick-ful of the vegetables into my mouth.

    “Just eat it.” Mom replied, too worn out to care.

    “I think I’m allergic.” Cathy changed her complaint.

    “No, you are allergic, and I am too! We are allergic to mushrooms.” Jen agreed. The dinner table being the only place they were each other’s back up. Everything they didn’t like-they were allergic to. The symptoms of allergy that Cathy had were backed up by Jen’s observation and vice versa.

    “Fine, then don’t eat it.” Mom said, and took away their plate to dump the contents into my plate.

    I growled. I only said they were okay, so that they would at least try it. Now, Mom thought I actually liked the plate. No matter, it’s only my health that is going to get better.

    “Ew.” Cathy and Jen both turned their faces away. Jonathan came out of the shower without a shirt on.

    “I don’t think I can eat anymore.” Cathy snapped.

    “Then don’t” Jonathan, obviously embarrassed, hurried to the closet.

    “Why do you always do that, you don’t live here by yourself you know, you always leave the toilet
seat up, too.” Jen complained

    “Whatever, why can’t I do what I want in my house.” Poor Jonathan. He could never fit right in to this family. Ever since he was born, he was a sole walker. No one knew how to raise a boy. No one was a boy. He was just awkward every time he did anything, and Cathy and Jen are not the types to pass the opportunity to create a fuss.

    “Mom, Jonathan keeps leaving the toilet seat up.”

    “Why?”

    “Because he thinks that he’s the only one who lives here”

    “I don’t think that”

    “That’s okay” Mom was getting annoyed. Whenever she wants to stop arguments, she speaks out these two futile words.

    “No it’s not. He’s not the only one who lives here”

    “Okay, Jonathan, stop talking. Eat.”

    “No, but why do I have to? Why can’t they put the seat up when they use it? it’s not fair”

    “I know. Cathy. Jen. Eat. Stop arguing”

    Sometimes, I wonder. If mom really knows. If she understands, at all, what the issue is. I wonder if the same question would arise in a normal Korean home in Korea. I wonder if she knows, what ‘toilet seat’ is or what it means to put it down or up. I wonder if that’s the same custom in Korea. Maybe not.

    Cathy and Jen never finished their meal.




CH2: 3 Years Later.



    “Yes?” It was a call from Vancouver.

    “Emily! It’s Mom. My lovely daughter!”

    “Oh, Mom. Hi, what’s up?”

    “Your sister, she got an A in French!”

    “Oh, good. That’s very good.” I am busy. I am busy. I am busy. I am busy. I couldn’t utter out these simple words; for the fear of lengthening mother’s soliloque on how she is being mistreated by her kids whom she raised, alone, by sacrificing everything.

    “So, your sister, she is not doing well in school.”

    “What?” Which one was which?

    “I told her not to go out so much. She doesn’t like me.”

    “That’s not true, we love you.”

    “No, I am lonely. She likes her friends more.”

    “Who?”

    “Your sister!”

    “Oh, my sister. I see. I will tell Cathy to study harder.”

    “No, it’s Jen. Jen has a boyfriend.”

    “Really? Wow. What kind of a person is he?”

    “I don’t know, I’ve seen him once or twice, he greets well.”

   
    Greeting. The single most important aspect of telling if that person is well brought up or not. If you greet well, then you automatically become the textbook case of a “Good Person” and if you don’t, no matter how good you may, really, be, you are rude and had terrible upbringing.

    “Oh, that’s good.”

    “Ya, oh, Annyunghaseyo~!!”

    Mom hung up. as abruptly as the conversation began, with the greeting to a customer that just stepped into her shop, she was gone.



CH3:  2 Years Later, Summer


    Our grand mother, from father’s side, is visiting Canada, all the way from Korea.

    “Jonathan, you need to say your greetings Grandmother, you haven’t seen her for so many years!” Cathy and Jen were determined to make their brother be properly Korean-mannered.

    “No, I don’t know what to say, I don’t really know her, I won’t understand if she says anything.”

    “It doesn’t matter, its Grandma! You just say your greetings.”

    It was only a few years ago, when Cathy and Jen used to run away from their Korean heritage. Now, they like to hang out with Korean newcomers who have the latest information on who’s who and what’s what.