small gifts of food = happiness and a sealed friendship
"Happiness!"
This was Soo-ji, her fingertips lathered in the white cream that also checked across her right cheek. Her eyes squinted like crecent moons and lips pursed from the sweetness of the yogurt cream.
Everyone agreed, yes happiness, yes I am happy!
Surprise snacks happen often between students, from teachers to students, and from students to teachers --a melon candy they remembered deep in their pocket, a clementine they received from another friend, or even a hamburger or chicken on a stick just bought around the corner held in front of your mouth waiting for you to take a bite.
Sometimes it's planned like the apple a student once gave me to apologize for being late for a meeting we had. She said in Korean, apple is a homonymn for the fruit and for an apology. What a wonderful idea. While sometimes an apology might draw an "I told you so" from someone, here sharing something tasty and thoughtful is always appreciated and never forgotten.
Still, it's the spontaneous gifts that seal your friendship. They are a photograph freezing that moment of "jeong", the instant connection that occurs when you give away that plum candy because you wanted to give that person something, anything, and that's just what happened to be in your hand at the moment. Or the instant knowing that grabs both of you when one is thanking the other for the juicy, beautiful peach that had been waiting on the desk. I'll always remember Hye Ran's shy dimples as I looked over my left shoulder to wave thank you. We passed HI!s at at the cross walk, she ran back to me and placed a small wrapped candy in my hand. In that moment it was as though we were both remembering the past semester's confused laughs and translations, and the bitter sweet sadness of the New Year weekend which meant the next time I see her, she will be a third year and no longer my student.
It's more than just consideration. When all the words you have are happiness and thank you, the small gift emblazens on the two of you the deep and beautiful meanings of those three small words. It warms you for a second when you must pass by quickly at the cold and crowded cross walk. Or gives you the first shared secret between the two of you; binding the two of you in class, giving the student motivation to laugh and ask questions when confused instead of tuning out, and the teacher the comfort to take a breath, tease her, and laugh with her.
I used to refuse small gifts, all kinds of gifts --a yoga book, candy, meals-- because I had once heard that three times is the trick: refuse three times to be polite and if they continue to insist, they mean it and you gotta take it. However, peoples' hearts and their desire to share it with you do not follow a formula. So when like a careful foreigner you stick to that rule, you can disappoint someone or, even worse --it just sort of slips past the both of you with barely a noise except for a small silent question: why didn't she take it? Like when my student asked, "Teacher, why did you take her piece of candy, but didn't take mine when I offered earlier?" She didn't quite understand what I meant when I said I felt bad and wanted her to enjoy her candy. For her, she was enjoying it by giving it to me.
So now, I have decided to risk being the foreigner who accepts gifts, I have decided to risk looking like I'm loved with candy overflowing my drawers, and I welcome the chance to be able to love someone back and give away something of mine next time.
This was Soo-ji, her fingertips lathered in the white cream that also checked across her right cheek. Her eyes squinted like crecent moons and lips pursed from the sweetness of the yogurt cream.
Everyone agreed, yes happiness, yes I am happy!
Surprise snacks happen often between students, from teachers to students, and from students to teachers --a melon candy they remembered deep in their pocket, a clementine they received from another friend, or even a hamburger or chicken on a stick just bought around the corner held in front of your mouth waiting for you to take a bite.
Sometimes it's planned like the apple a student once gave me to apologize for being late for a meeting we had. She said in Korean, apple is a homonymn for the fruit and for an apology. What a wonderful idea. While sometimes an apology might draw an "I told you so" from someone, here sharing something tasty and thoughtful is always appreciated and never forgotten.
Still, it's the spontaneous gifts that seal your friendship. They are a photograph freezing that moment of "jeong", the instant connection that occurs when you give away that plum candy because you wanted to give that person something, anything, and that's just what happened to be in your hand at the moment. Or the instant knowing that grabs both of you when one is thanking the other for the juicy, beautiful peach that had been waiting on the desk. I'll always remember Hye Ran's shy dimples as I looked over my left shoulder to wave thank you. We passed HI!s at at the cross walk, she ran back to me and placed a small wrapped candy in my hand. In that moment it was as though we were both remembering the past semester's confused laughs and translations, and the bitter sweet sadness of the New Year weekend which meant the next time I see her, she will be a third year and no longer my student.
It's more than just consideration. When all the words you have are happiness and thank you, the small gift emblazens on the two of you the deep and beautiful meanings of those three small words. It warms you for a second when you must pass by quickly at the cold and crowded cross walk. Or gives you the first shared secret between the two of you; binding the two of you in class, giving the student motivation to laugh and ask questions when confused instead of tuning out, and the teacher the comfort to take a breath, tease her, and laugh with her.
I used to refuse small gifts, all kinds of gifts --a yoga book, candy, meals-- because I had once heard that three times is the trick: refuse three times to be polite and if they continue to insist, they mean it and you gotta take it. However, peoples' hearts and their desire to share it with you do not follow a formula. So when like a careful foreigner you stick to that rule, you can disappoint someone or, even worse --it just sort of slips past the both of you with barely a noise except for a small silent question: why didn't she take it? Like when my student asked, "Teacher, why did you take her piece of candy, but didn't take mine when I offered earlier?" She didn't quite understand what I meant when I said I felt bad and wanted her to enjoy her candy. For her, she was enjoying it by giving it to me.
So now, I have decided to risk being the foreigner who accepts gifts, I have decided to risk looking like I'm loved with candy overflowing my drawers, and I welcome the chance to be able to love someone back and give away something of mine next time.
posted by jacquelina at 3:58 PM
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