我的韩国母亲
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I love my mother an abnormal amount， even when she forces me to call distant relatives， dialing the phone and pressing it into my cheek while my eyes get hot and watery.
She pulls rank all the time and once judo-flipped me on my back in a grocery store to remind me where things stood. She is my favorite and it makes me crazy.
She’s really foreign. You’d think it would kill her to get store-bought snacks. She grew up in Korea where filled with Koreans. She married a Korean and then moved to Hong Kong in her mid-30. I was 11 months and my brother was two years. This was back when Hong Kong was a British colony， which meant we were living in Asia with heaps of Australians and bronzed Europeans.
In any case， I can speak four languages and am a ruthless assimilation ninja. My mother， on the other hand， speaks English poorly with a screwy， poncy Korean British accent， as if she learned it from watching a 1960s Merchant-Ivory movie.
She’s also ridiculously formal， deeply private and not a joiner. She transitions poorly. The move to Hong Kong with two little kids and an absentee partner was rough. My father had elected to set up a shipping company. He was out of the country for eight months of the year， and sometime around my tenth birthday I discovered that he spoke conversational Russian for reasons that remain murky.
School was awful. Lunch tasted bad. My mom would pack the dumbest garbage. She once smeared bits of raw garlic left over from making kimchi onto white sandwich bread， thinking that’s how the garlic bread advertised at Pizza Hut was born.
I waited until she got off work that night and yelled at her with rank breath. I’d eaten most of the seemingly innocent square， elated that a sandwich had turned up at all in a lunch box that usually contained punishment food that sometimes had eyes.
One lunch， I was dragging myself around the playground when I saw my mom standing by the fence， waving big and calling my name. I wanted so badly to ignore her. She was supposed to be at work， so I was suspicious.
I began to back away so she started shouting loud enough to be heard over the playground din. I shuffled towards her with every intention to roundhouse-bludgeon her with my plastered arm. She held out a paper box. It was a McDonald’s happy meal： a cheeseburger one， which was my favorite.
The offering was so out of character that I considered it a bribe. I asked her what was going on. She mentioned something about how she wanted me to have a lunch that I liked.
I then did what any normal kid would do and yelled about how embarrassing it was to have her at school with me during lunch of all times.
She presented me with a sack of cheeseburgers that I could give out to my friends. I refused the damp bag and screeched about how it was so cheap that she didn’t spring for bright red boxes with toys for them as well.
I made her take the burgers back with her. If I were an actress and had to think of something sad to make me cry in a scene， I would think about this moment.
I think about my mom all the time and can’t stand it. When she rings during a meal， I get indigestion if I don’t call her back immediately. I don’t go home for birthdays or holidays， and on the occasions I do visit.
I express my affection in strange ways. I wait for her to fall asleep， peer over her body and imagine what it’d be like if she died. I just stand there， hot silent tears coursing down my face.
We’re not a demonstrative family， but I love my mom and it’s a secret. I love her so much it kills me， and I’d sooner die than tell her. To some extent， I want her to know though. Maybe someone could tell her for me， someone who isn’t my dad， because that would be weird.
我很爱我的母亲，哪怕她会在我热泪汪汪时，强迫我给远亲们打电话，拨出号码并把听筒按在我的脸颊上，在这个时候，我仍然爱着她。
她总是爱发威。有一次在杂货店里，她竟然一把将我丢到地上，以此警告我别没大没小。她是我的最爱，也让我抓狂。
她真的有点“奇葩”。你会觉得让她吃商店里买的点心就像要了她的命似的。她在韩国长大，周围都是韩国人，后来嫁了个韩国人，接着在35岁左右搬到了香港。那时的我11个月大，哥哥两岁。彼时的香港还是英国的殖民地，也就意味着我们虽然住在亚洲，但身边是成堆的澳洲人和皮肤晒成古铜色的欧洲人。
不管怎样，我能说四国语言，是一切兼收并蓄的“忍者”一般的强人。而另一方面，母亲的英语说得很差，还带着古怪的、女人气的韩国英式口音，就好像是跟一部20世纪60年代的莫歉特―艾佛利电影学的。
她还一本正经得可笑，性格极其孤僻，不喜社交。对她来说，适应新生活不是一件容易的事。带着两个年幼的孩子来到香港，加上丈夫不在身边，生活极为艰难。父亲当时被推选去创办一家船运公司，他一年中有八个月不在国内。在我十岁生日的时候，我发现他能用俄语会话，至今都不知道他是怎么学会的。
学校生活很糟糕，午餐也很难吃。母亲总会给我带上胡乱搭配的垃圾食品。有一次，她甚至在白三明治面包上抹了好多做泡菜剩下的生大蒜。我觉得必胜客里的蒜蓉面包就是这样诞生的。
那天晚上我一直等到她下班，然后带着难闻的口气冲着她大喊大叫。我吃掉了三明治大部分看起来没抹到大蒜的边角。当打开午餐盒时，我还挺满心欢喜的，毕竟午餐盒里装着的是三明治，而不是往常那些有时有窟窿眼的让人受罪的东西。
一天午餐时，我正慢慢地绕着操场走，我看到母亲站在围栏旁，大幅度地一边挥手，一边叫我的名字。我真想忽视她的存在。这个时候她本应在上班的，我不知道她来做什么。
于是我开始往回走，可她越叫越大声，甚至盖过了操场的喧闹声。我拖着脚步向她走去，真想抡圆我那打了石膏的手臂痛打她一顿。结果她拿出一个纸盒。那是麦当劳的开心乐园餐：一份有芝士汉堡的套餐，那是我的最爱。
这份大餐实在是太不像她的作风了，所以我认为这是在“贿赂”我。我问她发生了什么事。她说了类似于希望我能够吃到一份自己喜欢的午餐之类的话。
接着我像其他普通孩子会做的那样，冲着她大喊大叫，说她什么时候不好来，偏偏在午餐时到学校来看我，这多让人尴尬啊。
她给我一袋芝士汉堡，说让我拿给朋友们分享。我不愿接那个皱巴巴的袋子，尖声喊叫着说这个太便宜了，为什么不也给他们买附赠玩具的用亮红色盒子装的套餐？
最后，我叫她把汉堡带回去。如果我是个演员，不得不想些悲伤的事让自己在某个场景中哭出来，我觉得我会想到这一刻。
我一直都很想念母亲，有时会让我经受不住。当她在我吃饭时打来电话，如果不马上回她电话，我就会消化不良。我不会回家过生日或是过节日，但我会找机会回家。
我总是用奇怪的方式表达我对母亲的爱。等她睡熟后，我凝视着她的身体，想象着如果她去世了会是什么样子。我就站在那里，热泪无声地从我的脸庞滑落。
我们并不是一个感情外露的家庭，但我爱我的母亲，这是个秘密。我深深地爱着她，但我情愿死也不要告诉她。尽管如此，我还是有点想让她知道。也许有人能帮我告诉她，但告诉她的人不能是我的父亲，因为那会很奇怪。