The Eyes Are the Best Part

by Monika Kim

I know the fish was dead long before my mother plucked the eyeball out of its head, but somehow this seems too extreme.

Umma was a passive, easygoing woman. She never dared to argue with my father, who in our home was both a king and a god. His word was law; the rest of us, his pawns, did what we were told to do.

There are some things that you can never truly escape. Not really. Maybe that’s why, even now, she’s stuck in the past, long after everyone else has moved on.

“Fine,” Umma snaps. “If neither of you care about me, I’ll go crawl in a hole and die. You’ll both wish you were nicer to me when I’m gone.”

Guilt, the unfortunate go-to motivator for some moms

“If she only dated one Korean man and is saying that all of them are terrible based on that experience, don’t you think that’s a bit strange? Why is she assuming something about an entire group of people? It’s like when people tell me that I should be good at math or that I’m a bad driver, just because I’m Asian. . . .”

My sister has a gift for sidestepping conflict, for easing tension, for turning things around. I, on the other hand, am clumsy, awkward. Stressful situations make me panic.

Swearing on your mother’s life is something so American, so white, that neither of us can truly understand it. In our culture, swearing on your mother’s life is probably one of the worst sins you can commit. What is there that’s more important than your mother, your father, or your grandparents? It doesn’t sound like George has ever heard of filial piety.

“How did you know which grocery store she works at?” I ask, confused. “Did I mention it to you?”

he’s stalking you sis

Who is he if he can’t control you? Is he even a man anymore? It will seem like a relief when you give him a hand, even if that hand is holding a blade. And when you take everything from him, you can say what these men say about us: He was asking for it. He was begging for it. He must have wanted it, since he didn’t fight back.

“I’m a nice person, okay? I’m not like those other guys you know. Like your mom’s boyfriend. I don’t have yellow fever if that’s what you’re worried about. You know how much I read. I’ve studied pretty much every topic relating to race and gender. Fetishization is a form of oppression. I’m not an oppressor. I’m an ally! My feelings for you—no, my love for you—goes way beyond race. I love you for who you are on the

“I know that the plant is pretty, but poison is everywhere, even in the places where you least expect it.”

a child, I thought this meant that my mother could read my mind. She knew when I was lying. She knew when I did bad things. But, as I grew older, I came to realize that this was one of Umma’s many untruths. She didn’t know what I was thinking or how I was feeling. If she did, she wouldn’t have acted this way.