Asking my mom to stop packing me gimbap for school seemed like the obvious choice at the time. But now, I wonder how my mother felt when I asked. I can’t imagine giving part of your culture and childhood to your child and having them come back ashamed, full of rejection, and petulantly annoyed by what you’ve given them. I’m reminded of all the times I left my mother alone on the kitchen floor on kimjang days, plugging my nose and complaining about the smell instead of sitting down to help her. There’s a newfound guilt, an uncomfortable prickly feeling.
