Fishing For Compliments (Pt. I of II)
Moving images of G.I. Joes, the angelic woman, and The Dark Knight abruptly halted as I opened my eyes. Instantly, my sight was drowned with a pale blue penetrating the heavy glass that, partnered with the stiff humidity, kept the space in the room very busy. It took me a prolonged moment amidst the persistent, movie-perfect rooster crows to realize where the poops I was. I quickly began a process of elimination: roosters = not any home I'm familiar with, too humid to be the side of America I live in, and throbbing mosquito bites meant I couldn't be anywhere I particularly wanted to be. Ah, of course. I was in the shigul, or the countryside, at my late grandma's house with my -- wait, where was my dad, appa?
Peeling my face off the pillow too tall for me that hinted of dust and wiping the crusted saliva from my mouth, I looked down at the floor below from the cotton-heavy queen-sized bed to not see appa... It was obviously not any time of the day that I typically associated with consciousness, but the crank in my neck told me I had enough sleep. So I propped my unwilling body up and squinted around to see the tanktop of a body denying any lifelessness that the rest of the body might have been giving the impression of outside of the open door. I looked a little closer to notice it wasn't appa, but my uncle. I shrugged and let my body slam back into the mattress.
A moment later, I felt the bed dip on the other side. A deep breathing I knew well began. But it wasn't long before he murmured a prompting "Enee" (my Korean name). Without moving, I responded with a light grunt. "Let's go fishing" my dad urged in Korean.
Suddenly, a hundred fishies rushed my thought bubble. On the one hand, this is what I've been subtly desiring for years. Finally time with my father doing something that not only he loves, but that America loves as just something a father and son do. Fishing meant bonding time. Fishing meant a chance to talk to appa about whatever I wanted. But I couldn't help but think of one thing more than anything else. There are a few things that I could possibly do that would not just win approval from my father, but that something extra. If I were somehow to be a golf junkie and become another of the many rising Korean stars in the game; or soccer; or baseball (sports I've hardly even tried aside from Wii); or if I had run for AS president during my time at Biola and won, and then convinced La Mirada to build the world's biggest little golf course (instead of a water park), then I could have done something I didn't think I'd done often: made my father proud. Or caught a fish. So here was my chance. On the other hand, I was pretty tired. Like Xtina once so elegantly put it, but inversed: my body's saying no, but my heart is saying let's go.
Before I could attempt a decision, appa did something he also rarely does, and grabbed me by hand and pulled me off the bed, explaining with a "let's go." As we blossomed to life, amazingly so did just about everyone else in the little country house: my aunt, her husband, and my other uncle, while my other aunt, remained sprawled out on the blanket on the floor in my late grandma's old little room.
What time is it? I wondered while brushing my teeth as my eyes wandered down to the water coming out of the bottom of the sink onto the bathroom floor. Gross. Thankfully, I was wearing slippers, as is custom in Korean bathrooms. Looking outside, I figured I wouldn't be able to tell just by doing the whole boy scout shadow thing...
Soon, my uncle, appa, and I were in the car. Here we were... going fishing! It had been a dozen years, easy, since I last went fishing. And that wasn't even with appa, it was with my uncle. I can't even solidly remember the last time I went with my dad (which might even have been my first). I pulled the foreign white baseball cap down a little further as my dad confirmed the vagueness of our last fishing trip. I wiggled my toes in my dad's old worn shoes that were not only loose because their being a little big for me, but some pebble or something kept my foot from mere mild discomfort in these shoes. How crazy, this was so not me. I guess that was the point, right?
We pulled up into the "city" area after a few minutes of a dirt road wedged between farms. The sign of the place read "fishing" in Korean. My uncle got out and went inside without saying anything. As usual, I wasn't sure if I should have went in with him or what. Instead, the yawning white sky caught my attention. My uncle was back in a jiffy as the sound of the trunk slamming shut awakened me from my semi-daydream.
Weaving through the country-houses and farms, my dad recounted to me stories of growing up in this area. How he used to take the school bus for 5 hours into town just to go to school; and how there used to only be a single narrow road in the town and buses in opposing directions would play chicken to back each other up km's at a time since there was only room enough for one of them; he pointed out to me the elementary school he went to and the middle school and the high school--all in the relative vicinity. Man, I had nothing on the old man. Yet maybe if he knew what I did have, he'd think more highly of me.
I didn't know there was even a sea that we could fish at when we arrived. But as we got out and got our gear together and walked around the heaps of dirt in some building on which some kind of work was being done in the road, we got onto the main road, which we could see was beside the sea... somewhat. Perhaps this little detail in the scene was a sign.
The "sea" on the right looked like some kind of man-made bay. On the left was a sort of marsh. Lilypads speckled the dirty, seemingly shallow water. Long-legged herons caught my attention as they proudly stood slightly silhouetted by the reflection of the white sky against the water.
"Appa," I urged, feeling like a kid. "Look at those birds!"
He nodded as he and my uncle discussed the best spots. I heard them talking about how when they were young, they would come and fish on the marshy side all the time, and how the water used to be much higher.
Soon we were taking big steps in the tall grass to cross over to the sea-side. While my uncle and dad wore jeans, because I wore shorts, I was paranoid of all the bugs that might jump on me as I lifted my short legs in long strides so as to get out of the tall grass quickly. Quick it was, as we came to the sea, but a small steep hill of unstable rocks separated the men from the mission. Without hesitation, my uncle and dad plunged onto the rocks, warning me multiple times to be careful, which I was careful to be. These things always turn out better than one initially imagines, but I think that that psych-up is an essential part of the process.
Here we were on the rocks next to this calmly lapping sea. I sat on my mostly flat rock, careful not to leave my legs open to the nasty BB-sized-butt spiders that abundantly inhabited the rocks. My dad was just a couple rocks down to my left on his newspaper pulling out some rods. What they were for, I didn't know. My uncle to his left a few more rocks down was getting out more rods, which I think were the fishing rods. I looked around me at the foreign scene... Definitely not something I was completely comfortable with, but I wished I was. Then I saw what I thought was a huge dead bug at first, but later discovered was the shed skin of a cicada. It was huge. And really gross and freaky. An omen to my fishing endeavors?
My uncle distributed the mystery rods, to which I curiously examined, trying to figure out how the fishing line would even attach to this thing. After watching appa plant the end of the mystery rod into a rock, it wasn't any clearer, but I followed suit anyhow. I wasn't doing it right, though, of course. My dad came over to help. Darn. I really didn't want him to think I was an infant in this, even though I was. But after doing it just right, my dad and uncle both soothed that fear with an uulchi (which roughly means "good," or "that's right", usually towards children). Then the purpose of these little mystery rods were brought to light... one is to plant them in the rocks horizontally, then lay the fishing rods to rest on them, being held up by the prongs halfway down the rod. My uncle opened the container of worms and began baiting them up. It was time.
Peeling my face off the pillow too tall for me that hinted of dust and wiping the crusted saliva from my mouth, I looked down at the floor below from the cotton-heavy queen-sized bed to not see appa... It was obviously not any time of the day that I typically associated with consciousness, but the crank in my neck told me I had enough sleep. So I propped my unwilling body up and squinted around to see the tanktop of a body denying any lifelessness that the rest of the body might have been giving the impression of outside of the open door. I looked a little closer to notice it wasn't appa, but my uncle. I shrugged and let my body slam back into the mattress.
A moment later, I felt the bed dip on the other side. A deep breathing I knew well began. But it wasn't long before he murmured a prompting "Enee" (my Korean name). Without moving, I responded with a light grunt. "Let's go fishing" my dad urged in Korean.
Suddenly, a hundred fishies rushed my thought bubble. On the one hand, this is what I've been subtly desiring for years. Finally time with my father doing something that not only he loves, but that America loves as just something a father and son do. Fishing meant bonding time. Fishing meant a chance to talk to appa about whatever I wanted. But I couldn't help but think of one thing more than anything else. There are a few things that I could possibly do that would not just win approval from my father, but that something extra. If I were somehow to be a golf junkie and become another of the many rising Korean stars in the game; or soccer; or baseball (sports I've hardly even tried aside from Wii); or if I had run for AS president during my time at Biola and won, and then convinced La Mirada to build the world's biggest little golf course (instead of a water park), then I could have done something I didn't think I'd done often: made my father proud. Or caught a fish. So here was my chance. On the other hand, I was pretty tired. Like Xtina once so elegantly put it, but inversed: my body's saying no, but my heart is saying let's go.
Before I could attempt a decision, appa did something he also rarely does, and grabbed me by hand and pulled me off the bed, explaining with a "let's go." As we blossomed to life, amazingly so did just about everyone else in the little country house: my aunt, her husband, and my other uncle, while my other aunt, remained sprawled out on the blanket on the floor in my late grandma's old little room.
What time is it? I wondered while brushing my teeth as my eyes wandered down to the water coming out of the bottom of the sink onto the bathroom floor. Gross. Thankfully, I was wearing slippers, as is custom in Korean bathrooms. Looking outside, I figured I wouldn't be able to tell just by doing the whole boy scout shadow thing...
Soon, my uncle, appa, and I were in the car. Here we were... going fishing! It had been a dozen years, easy, since I last went fishing. And that wasn't even with appa, it was with my uncle. I can't even solidly remember the last time I went with my dad (which might even have been my first). I pulled the foreign white baseball cap down a little further as my dad confirmed the vagueness of our last fishing trip. I wiggled my toes in my dad's old worn shoes that were not only loose because their being a little big for me, but some pebble or something kept my foot from mere mild discomfort in these shoes. How crazy, this was so not me. I guess that was the point, right?
We pulled up into the "city" area after a few minutes of a dirt road wedged between farms. The sign of the place read "fishing" in Korean. My uncle got out and went inside without saying anything. As usual, I wasn't sure if I should have went in with him or what. Instead, the yawning white sky caught my attention. My uncle was back in a jiffy as the sound of the trunk slamming shut awakened me from my semi-daydream.
Weaving through the country-houses and farms, my dad recounted to me stories of growing up in this area. How he used to take the school bus for 5 hours into town just to go to school; and how there used to only be a single narrow road in the town and buses in opposing directions would play chicken to back each other up km's at a time since there was only room enough for one of them; he pointed out to me the elementary school he went to and the middle school and the high school--all in the relative vicinity. Man, I had nothing on the old man. Yet maybe if he knew what I did have, he'd think more highly of me.
I didn't know there was even a sea that we could fish at when we arrived. But as we got out and got our gear together and walked around the heaps of dirt in some building on which some kind of work was being done in the road, we got onto the main road, which we could see was beside the sea... somewhat. Perhaps this little detail in the scene was a sign.
The "sea" on the right looked like some kind of man-made bay. On the left was a sort of marsh. Lilypads speckled the dirty, seemingly shallow water. Long-legged herons caught my attention as they proudly stood slightly silhouetted by the reflection of the white sky against the water.
"Appa," I urged, feeling like a kid. "Look at those birds!"
He nodded as he and my uncle discussed the best spots. I heard them talking about how when they were young, they would come and fish on the marshy side all the time, and how the water used to be much higher.
Soon we were taking big steps in the tall grass to cross over to the sea-side. While my uncle and dad wore jeans, because I wore shorts, I was paranoid of all the bugs that might jump on me as I lifted my short legs in long strides so as to get out of the tall grass quickly. Quick it was, as we came to the sea, but a small steep hill of unstable rocks separated the men from the mission. Without hesitation, my uncle and dad plunged onto the rocks, warning me multiple times to be careful, which I was careful to be. These things always turn out better than one initially imagines, but I think that that psych-up is an essential part of the process.
Here we were on the rocks next to this calmly lapping sea. I sat on my mostly flat rock, careful not to leave my legs open to the nasty BB-sized-butt spiders that abundantly inhabited the rocks. My dad was just a couple rocks down to my left on his newspaper pulling out some rods. What they were for, I didn't know. My uncle to his left a few more rocks down was getting out more rods, which I think were the fishing rods. I looked around me at the foreign scene... Definitely not something I was completely comfortable with, but I wished I was. Then I saw what I thought was a huge dead bug at first, but later discovered was the shed skin of a cicada. It was huge. And really gross and freaky. An omen to my fishing endeavors?
My uncle distributed the mystery rods, to which I curiously examined, trying to figure out how the fishing line would even attach to this thing. After watching appa plant the end of the mystery rod into a rock, it wasn't any clearer, but I followed suit anyhow. I wasn't doing it right, though, of course. My dad came over to help. Darn. I really didn't want him to think I was an infant in this, even though I was. But after doing it just right, my dad and uncle both soothed that fear with an uulchi (which roughly means "good," or "that's right", usually towards children). Then the purpose of these little mystery rods were brought to light... one is to plant them in the rocks horizontally, then lay the fishing rods to rest on them, being held up by the prongs halfway down the rod. My uncle opened the container of worms and began baiting them up. It was time.