Super Salad

 Young Gunn Kim

Konglish: “Korean-style English, which comprises English and other foreign language loanwords that have been appropriated into Korean, and includes many that are used in ways that are not readily understandable to native English speakers.” — Wikipedia

I

Your assessment of Korea’s modern history is insightful, Mr. Wright. Risen from the ashes of war, South Korea now boasts its exemplary democracy, advanced technologies, and top-notch entertainment industry. However, Korea’s legal system and journalism still leave much to be desired. The prosecutors have amassed excessive power, often colluding with vested interests and choosing investigative cases based on their politically motivated agendas. The three major right-wing newspapers, which dominate 75% of Korea’s press circulation, have long been maximizing their profits by manipulating public opinion. They’ve been hell-bent on finding faults with the former Moon administration while overlooking irregularities of the current Yoon administration. I contend that Korea actually thrived during Moon’s term financially, diplomatically, and culturally. The news articles you read are translated from the corrupt, self-serving press. With all due respect, Mr. Wright, I don’t think you have a balanced view of Korea’s circumstances.

This is what Jung-do thinks in Korean. When he meets Mr. Wright’s eyes, he takes a deep breath and speaks in English.

“Korea it’sa… now good. It’sa… K-culture bery popular, hahaha. And Korea now lich. Many people make money a lot. World economic ten, haha. But the Korea journalism and law system it’s not wok good. Bad situation. Powerpul people it’sa… evil. The law people terrible. Media terrible. So the pight neber pair.”

In an office of SilverStar Jeans, a denim-specializing wholesale store with a staff of twenty located in Downtown Los Angeles, Jung-do, the warehouse manager, is seated beside his boss, Mr. Lim, and across from Mr. Wright.

Arms folded, Mr. Wright says, “I am aware of the liberal governments’ friction with the press and prosecutors, but you need to understand why people nonetheless elected the former chief prosecutor as their president. They believe Korea has more pressing priorities. Did Moon’s administration cope well with COVID? How about the real estate market being so out of control? And North Korea continues to strengthen nuclear weapons that can annihilate Seoul. For people concerned about these realistic issues, the Left’s criticisms of the press and prosecution feel trivial.”

Jung-do might not have grasped every sophisticated term used by Mr. Wright, but he certainly understands English better than he speaks. He attempts to respond. “But it’sa… Many pake news. That’s big probrem. People read newspaper and SNS, think Moon government no good. People say liberal many crime but Yoon is justice. But that’s not pact.” 

The frown forming between Mr. Wright’s eyes tells Jung-do that his point hasn’t gotten across. Mr. Lim smiles awkwardly and looks askance at Jung-do, silently mouthing stop in Korean.

Jung-do gets up and bows his head before leaving. As he closes Mr. Lim’s office door behind him, he winces at a thought. How absurd it was to bow, especially to a Caucasian like Mr. Wright who wouldn’t care about such deference. But old habits die hard. Jung-do has turned fifty this year, and he still unconsciously bows to those older than him.  

A business partner and advisor to Mr. Lim, Mr. Wright loves to rattle on whenever he visits. Married to a Korean woman and making frequent business trips to Korea, he’s overly vocal about the country’s social and political aspects. When Jung-do entered Mr. Lim’s office earlier to submit yesterday’s warehouse inventory report, he had no intention of engaging in their debate, given his limited English. However, well-versed in Korean politics, Jung-do perceived Mr. Wright’s argument as biased, reflecting only the viewpoint of a conservative American citizen. Jung-do felt an urge to provide counterbalanced information.

That may have been possible if he communicated in his native tongue.

English… The level of stress and anxiety this language inflicts upon Jung-do is immeasurable. It feels like his brain synapses disconnect whenever he has to respond in English. How convenient it would be if Irene, his sixteen-year-old daughter, could accompany him everywhere. She’s been invaluable in helping him with all kinds of translation and interpretation tasks. Irene is his sole family; his attachment to her has grown stronger since his wife passed away from a stroke three years ago.

Jung-do drives to Harvard Academy, a Korean-owned English language institute located on Harvard Boulevard. He used to attend adult schools, but decided to try a private institute in Koreatown this semester. Its fees are considerably higher, so he has pledged never to skip a class. In all honesty, learning Spanish feels more urgent to Jung-do, because most of his coworkers and customers are Hispanic in the wholesale district of Downtown L.A., but the frustration experienced this morning reminds him why he must continue studying English. This spring, Mr. Lim generously allowed Jung-do to leave work early on Tuesdays and Thursdays to attend two ESL courses.

Divided into four separate classrooms, Harvard Academy occupies the entire second floor of a four-story building. From what Jung-do can see, Koreans make up the majority of students, primarily in their 30s to 50s, with some older seniors and a few in their 20s. The Conversational English class is led by Lauren, a white woman in her 60s with a ready smile that crinkles the outer edges of her blue eyes. It’s the second week of school, and today each student takes turns sharing with the class what they did in their homeland and what they do now.

“I was university psychology professor,” a grey-haired man in a brown sweater vest says. “I am now coin laundry manager.”

His honest response elicits friendly chuckles, as such a twist from a respected educator’s career to menial work is a familiar immigrant narrative.

A dark-skinned, middle-aged man says, “My name is Charlie. I was a truck driber in Korea. Now I am CEO of sandwich shop. I have tree employ. I’m a American dream success person!”

Charlie scrunches up his face with a simper, which draws some applause and laughter.

When it’s Jung-do’s turn, he says, “I am Jung-do. I wok for it’sa jeans and denim store in jobba Downtown. In Korea I was doing it’sa poritic internet media journalism.”

“How interesting,” Lauren says. “Do you still write in Korean as a journalist?”

“No. Wok too busy. No time.” Jung-do crosses his hands. 

“I am Emma,” a round-faced woman sitting next to Jung-do introduces herself. “I rike Emma Stone so dat’s why my Engrish name is Emma, hohoho. I am dirty-six years old. Uhm… In America I am a housewipe now, but in Korea I work in event production company.”

“Worked,” Lauren kindly corrects her. “That would make your sentence past tense.” 

Emma guffaws, “Oh, yes. Oh my God I porgot! I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“Please don’t apologize,” Lauren raises her index finger and looks around the class. “Actually, I want to say this to all of you. Never apologize for your English. You did nothing wrong. It’s okay to make mistakes. Be confident and just keep trying!”

Jung-do’s lips curl, his heart warmed by Lauren’s kind words. The other students seem to share his sentiment.

“I never aporogize.” Ki-chan, a man in his 40s with a defined chest and bicep muscles straining against his T-shirt, speaks up. “Everybody has probrem, so same same. I no good at Engrish bery well but they no good at Korean too. So I say, hey you speak Korean? I know more Korean! Last time I fighted my insurance company two hours talking about the my situation. They not understand so I just saying continue they understanding. They have to risten because that they job. I’m a their customer. I pay my money. I speak not perpect but I don’t afraid about the my Engrish skill I just everything say, prom my brain.”

Jung-do stares slack-jawed at Ki-chan’s profile. How does he do that? This guy is relentless in expressing himself. It’s as though he had created his own fluent vernacular, and nothing could get in his way. Why does Jung-do become timid when dealing with English? He’s certain of his inferiority complex, and his background as a journalist hasn’t helped, because it pressures him to speak proper English and then shames him when he’s unable. He can’t imagine himself doing what Ki-chan does — speaking his broken English without an ounce of care about what people may think.

After Lauren’s class, Jung-do proceeds to the Reading Comprehension class led by Eduardo, a 40-ish Latino instructor whose body could weigh well over 200 pounds and which almost obscures the white board on the wall. Jung-do notices he’s not as popular as Lauren. Students seem uncomfortable with Eduardo’s frequent mentions of his previous teaching experience at a four-year university, implying he’s overqualified for this institution. Enumerating the faults of the U.S. government, he stresses that no one works harder than him, but he hasn’t had fair opportunities.

Jung-do believes Eduardo is a hard worker. The man prepares a variety of materials and stays after school as long as students have questions. Eduardo pushes them to demonstrate improvement, and when they fall short, he doesn’t let it go unnoticed.

“Would you answer question number three on the worksheet?” Eduardo picks on Emma today. “Are Don and Joan at the mall?”

Emma responds, her voice barely above a whisper. “Uhm… yes.”

“Correct. Do they want to shop for clothes first, or do they prefer going straight to the movie theater?”

“Uhm…” Emma examines the worksheet. “Don want to buy Y-shirts and Jo-an buy one-piece?”

“That’s not the question I asked.” Eduardo repeats his question, and adds, “Ignore the image and focus on the text. It’s easy if you read it carefully. The answer is right there.”

“I don know… I’m sorry.” Emma chuckles, avoiding eye contact.

“Why are you laughing?” asks Eduardo. “When you speak to an English speaker, laughing while evading a response is considered rude.” 

Jung-do knows why Emma chuckled. Like him, many ESL speakers tend to laugh when embarrassed or frustrated by their difficulty in expressing themselves in English. Although he wouldn’t prefer using English to help anyone, Jung-do decides, at this instant, to speak on Emma’s behalf.

“Ah… Emma it’sa shy person. That’s why she doesn’t feeling and just smiling. Smiling it’sa polite person. Diperent culture.”

“That is not a cultural difference,” retorts Eduardo. “That is disrespectful. You just don’t laugh at someone when they speak to you. Emma, you need to understand that.”

Students glance sideways at each other, some looking down at their desks and shifting in their chairs. Eduardo’s teaching methods aren’t clicking with his classmates, but Jung-do is still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“There are three types of English learners,” asserts Eduardo. “Those who say they should improve but make no effort, complacent in their own community. Second, those who learn English just to get by. They never go beyond their status quo to challenge higher levels. Third, those who diligently read English books, listen attentively to American news, and immerse themselves in American culture. These are the ones who will speak English fluently in no time. I am committed to making you belong to the third bracket!”

While nodding his head, Jung-do wants to argue that there is a fourth bracket. People who recognize the importance of English and make reasonable efforts, but still barely improve. Not enough time to study due to a full-time job, their brain already too fixed and tongue too stiff to absorb a new language, or simply lacking linguistic skills. This describes his situation because try as he may, Jung-do hasn’t made much progress. Should he say something about this? He opens his mouth but closes it again a second later. Eduardo will probably scold him: You just haven’t tried hard enough!

After class comes Jung-do’s favorite time of the day. He drives to Santa Monica and picks up his daughter from her high school. A straight-A student in her junior year, her teachers are expecting her to get into an Ivy League university. The thought of her leaving him for college already makes his heart squeeze within his chest. Jung-do secretly wishes she’ll stay and commute to a local school like USC or UCLA.

“Appa, I’m so hangry! School lunch was crap today, so I hardly ate anything,” Irene says as she jumps into the passenger seat.

“Oh, no. Again?” Irene’s Korean is worse than Jung-do’s English, so they converse in English. He grabs the wheel, ready to take off. “What you want to eat?” 

He takes Irene to an American family restaurant with wooden beams overhead, brick walls, vintage décor, and 80’s soft rock playing in the background. They find a table next to the window.

When a waitress approaches them, Jung-do orders a sirloin steak. 

“Soup or salad?” says the waitress. 

“Yes,” replies Jung-do.

The waitress rolls her eyes and asks again, “Sir, soup or salad?” 

“Yes, please. Give me super salad,” Jung-do says. “America big. Big is good, haha.” 

Suppressing a chuckle, Irene turns towards the confused waitress. “He would like a salad. Italian on the side, please.”

“Oh, okay.” The waitress notes down the order. As soon as she’s gone, Irene bursts into laughter.

“Super salad? Oh my God. I thought you were joking, Appa. I should’ve Snapchatted you. I have to tell everyone.”

“No!” Jung-do’s face turns red. “Don’t tell to everyone today happening. I’m shame.”

“Appa, you’ve been here for more than ten years. How could you not understand such a common question we hear all the time in restaurants?”

No matter how cautious, Jung-do is a walking time bomb prone to making English mistakes. Silly errors persist even when he deals with preschool vocabulary, like ordering “warm” coffee at Starbucks for years until realizing recently that he should be requesting “hot” coffee. It was simply because “warm” is the adjective commonly used to describe coffee in Korean.

Thank goodness Irene doesn’t have to go through these humiliating experiences. He feels a surge of pride knowing she’s in the Honors English class. Irene came here when she was five. Jung-do didn’t mind when she started speaking only English at home. One day he noticed Irene could no longer make up even simple sentences in Korean. Jung-do told her it was fine. If his daughter could speak perfect English, losing her mother tongue was a worthwhile sacrifice to be made. His wife, insanely busy with work during the early years of their immigration, also couldn’t keep her daughter up with the Korean language. Having spoken better English than Jung-do, she had connected well with her daughter.

“Appa, I mean no offense,” says Irene, gasping for breath between laughs, “but it’s still hilarious. I’m creating a meme right now. Super salad!”

As Jung-do watches his elated daughter, happiness outstrips his embarrassment. He tells her, “I have many punny story. My school friends tell me many. One day, one Korean got car accident. Poris come. Porisman say, ‘how are you?’ And the Korean say, ‘I am fine, thank you, and you?’”

This joke triggers explosions of laughter from every Korean, but Irene only tilts her head, puzzled. She doesn’t know that “How are you?” and “I am fine, thank you. And you?” are the very first sentences introduced in the official English textbook at public schools in Korea.

“One more,” Jung-do wants another chance to make Irene laugh. “The Korean tourist take six friends to Macdonald. The employ say, ‘For here or to go?’ The Korean is serious worry. He look at his friends. He say to them, ‘Okay, four people stay here. Two people go out.’”

This one hits the mark. “OMG, you’re cracking me up, Appa!”

The sound of Irene’s giggles inflates Jung-do’s heart like a balloon, and he feels light as the air around him. He treasures this sense of closeness with his daughter. Her radiant face is the reason he lives, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep it that way. Although he’s never told Irene, he is sometimes surprised how closely her laughter resembles that of his late wife. They share the same broad smile that covers almost the entirety of the face.

When they leave the restaurant, Irene asks him to drop her off at her friend’s house. He prefers they head straight home together, but he satisfies her request. He always does.

Alone in his car, Jung-do drives through the streets of Santa Monica. He has never regretted living here. Although the cost of living is high, providing Irene with a good school district has been his top priority. If Irene leaves for college, he’ll probably move closer to Downtown, where he works, or to Koreatown, which offers many conveniences. As usual, this thought leads him to the idea of buying a home. He’s only been renting in America, and he can’t help thinking how wasteful it is to give his money to a landlord instead of investing it for his future. He stops at the West SM Bank.

“Hi, I come to bank because it’sa loan. Home buy.”

“I’m glad to be of service. My name is Michael.” A bank employee in charge of loans leads Jung-do to a seat across from his desk. Looking at Jung-do’s identification, Michael rubs his palms together, “Okay, Mr. Yoong Doo Lee.”

Jung-do wants to clarify that his name is not Yoong Doo. It’s pronounced as J. Uh. Doe. But he remains quiet. Asserting himself in English, even if to correct someone mispronouncing his name, makes his insides squirm.

After reviewing some details on his computer monitor, Michael gives an explanation.  The words zip past Jung-do’s ears, consonants and vowels tangled and unrecognizable.

“Padon? Padon?” he says.

Michael explains again, but speaks too quickly. Jung-do surmises he must bring more documents.

“But…” he blinks a few times, willing the words to make sense, but they don’t. “Aleady I receive call. Prom you.”

“Me?” Michael asks, “You mean our representative?”

“This somebody aleady say to me I come in here, everything pine.”

“I’m not sure what our representative told you on the phone, but that’s not how it works. What we have on the computer is your last year’s documents. We need to see your tax return of this year and your most recent pay stubs.”

Jung-do shakes his head. “They say just go to bank and then tell them it’sa loan. Then it’sa okay. My credit good. I check paper something, they say it’sa happening. No probrem.”

“Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“One year ago, I aleady paper. I’m not, it’sa… it’sa… I cannot. But you know.”

Michael purses his lips as his smile evaporates. He glances at the clock and another customer waiting. When an Asian female employee passes him by, he stops her. “Hey, Janet, do you speak Korean by any chance?”

“Are you kidding me?” Janet gives him a playful slap on the shoulder. “I’m Chinese, and I don’t even speak Chinese.”

They chortle and chat about the difficulty with foreign languages, ignoring Jung-do. They seem to think he won’t understand anything they say. Heat rises from the pit of Jung-do’s stomach toward his chest. Frustration and embarrassment caused by the language barrier are nothing new, but what Jung-do feels today is closer to anger.

“Excuse me,” Michael turns around and says with a subtle smirk, “I really want to help, but we’re closing soon and there are other customers in line.” 

“It’sa okay. I… bring daughter next time. She speak Engrish. Good help.”

“That sounds perfect!” Michael beckons to the waiting customer to approach while his sidelong glance asks Jung-do to leave. 

Jung-do stands up and turns around. It feels as though everyone in the bank was pointing at him and laughing. He walks out of the bank, his shoulders drooped like a sinner. A sinner condemned for failing to communicate well in English.

II

“Thank you for the opportunity! You won’t regret it, sir.”

When Jung-do walks past the office through the hallway at his workplace, he overhears Kevin speaking to Mr. Lim. Kevin, a 28-year-old Korean-American who worked for nearly a year under Jung-do’s supervision in the warehouse, has just been promoted. He will wear a dress shirt and work in the office that runs cool AC all day. His salary will increase, not to mention commissions earned for each sale he makes. Having grown up here, he's comfortable with American culture and language. Jung-do can’t blame Mr. Lim’s decision. He must think it will benefit his company more if Kevin commits to sales and marketing rather than inventory and stock. Jung-do quietly watches Mr. Wright, who has visited Mr. Lim for another day, grabbing Kevin’s shoulders, offering words of encouragement, and praising the young man’s abilities and potential. Their English words and laughter bounce back and forth like a well-matched ping pong game.

Having devoted a decade to this job, Jung-do handles all incoming merchandise and has extensive knowledge of SilverStar Jeans products, but he seldom interacts directly with clients or buyers. Once again, the wall of English is too daunting to climb. Will he ever be able to get out of the warehouse? He might be too old to become fluent in English but is too young to give up and accept this way of life forever.

Mr. Lim is not a bad boss. He has just promised to increase Jung-do’s monthly salary by $500, a reasonable adjustment given the rampant inflation. Jung-do expresses his gratitude and informs Mr. Lim that his ESL classes end today, so he’ll resume full-day work every Tuesday and Thursday from next week.

Jung-do arrives at Harvard Academy for the last day of class. In celebration of this, Lauren, everyone’s favorite teacher, commends students for their hard work and progress displayed throughout the semester. She distributes small gift bags to all the students, each containing M&M chocolates and a lovely handwritten card adorned with cartoon characters. On a table placed next to the chalkboard, there are cookies and assorted candies. Students are busy laughing, chatting, and having fun, but only a few of them actually unwrap and try the sweets. Jung-do would have taken some home if Irene were little, but she isn’t a kid anymore. Holding a pack of gummies in his hand, he can’t help but feel a similar insult he experienced with Mr. Wright whose eyes looked at Jung-do as if he was a child for speaking poor English. How does Lauren truly see him and his classmates? Is her exceptional kindness rooted in a protective instinct that grownups typically feel toward children? She must have arranged these with good intentions, but a sense of betrayal still rises.

In stark contrast, Teacher Eduardo has prepared nothing for the last day. Grim-faced, he announces he won’t be returning to Harvard in the fall. He’s been fired.

“Some of you reported to the school director that I’m not suitable to teach here,” Eduardo says to the class. “I don’t know who told on me, but I want to ask them. Why didn’t you come to me first if you had concerns? I would’ve been happy to listen and make adjustments.”

Jung-do is surprised by the news although he did feel Eduardo’s methods of pressing students to learn were sometimes excessive and inefficient. However, he understands why they chose to complain to the director, a Korean. It’s easier to address a sensitive issue in their own language rather than confront Eduardo in English.

“I will miss this class, and I wish you all the best. I apologize if my actions or comments made anyone feel uncomfortable. I only meant to help you enhance your English skills, no matter what it takes.” The fiery glint in Eduardo’s eyes has dimmed. “I’ve also heard that a native English-speaking teacher would be preferred here. In case any of you were mistaken, I’d just like to clarify that I am a native English speaker.”

Silence spreads over the classroom. Jung-do’s heart is heavy. He knows Eduardo drives a long way from Santa Ana for this job. Eduardo’s dejected face reminds him of himself watching Kevin move up to the office while he remains stuck in the warehouse.

“Don’t feel bad about…” Jung-do manages to say. “You teached many to us. We thank you.”

Jung-do surveys the class. Faces look down or away. Not many agree with him.

The spring semester is over, and it’s officially summer. Jung-do drives to Irene’s school. His heart swells with delight when he sees his beautiful daughter walking towards his car. Despite the absence of her mother, Irene has grown into such a bright girl. Talking about Omma, Jung-do’s wife, has become something of a taboo at home as it tends to easily ruin their day, but he knows how much Irene misses her. He’s also aware Irene has been going through rough times lately. School stress and a bad breakup with her boyfriend have drawn dark circles under her eyes and sunken her cheeks, but she’s reluctant to discuss them with Jung-do.

When he heard her crying alone a few nights earlier, it broke his heart. But when he tried to console her, it backfired. Her pent-up frustration was unleashed to a point of blaming him for Omma’s death.

Absorbed in the demands of their immigrant lives, Jung-do had not taken his wife’s frequent complaints of migraine seriously. All he ever did was keep suggesting to her to take more Excedrin. What he doesn’t let his daughter know is the massive guilt he carries for the loss of Omma. Things could’ve been different, and she might have lived had he been more attentive to her. This thought will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Following the argument, father and daughter stopped speaking to each other for days. When their relationship isn’t at its best, difficulties arise because Jung-do relies on Irene for a wide range of daily chores that require using or understanding English, such as reading important notifications and making calls to organizations like DWP, DMV, AT&T… Yesterday, Jung-do finally gave in and broke the silence. He asked Irene to contact their stingy apartment landlord to replace the malfunctioning blinds in his bedroom. Irene would normally do it without hesitation, but this time she was upset, questioning why he couldn’t handle such a simple task himself. Irene thinks it makes no difference if he speaks broken English, but Jung-do knows the difference. 

To turn their strained relationship around, Jung-do takes her to a fancy American restaurant. Unlike Jung-do who would opt for Korean food any day, Irene prefers Western cuisine. He feels awkward amongst the stylishly dressed patrons and within the trendy interior that plays upbeat electronic music. He’s doing this for Irene, but she looks unimpressed.

“Appa got job bonus,” Jung-do says. “Whatever you want, eat. I can buy everything.”

Jung-do studies the menu and makes sure he doesn’t order a “super salad.” They don’t talk much while eating. Irene constantly fiddles with her cell phone. Jung-do wants to tell her to put it away, but he leaves her be. 

When their meal is finished, the waiter brings a check and informs Jung-do about something. He asks the waiter to repeat. The words whoosh past his head like random sound and Jung-do captures nothing, but he thinks it’s rude to have the waiter say it for the third time. Irene must’ve heard the waiter, but she chooses to remain absorbed in the world of her small cell phone, not even glancing at her dad. Jung-do wishes he could turn to her for help but is unable to bring himself to ask. He looks up at the waiter and ends up saying, “Okay, yes.”

After paying with his credit card, Jung-do reviews the receipt. “Wow, what happen the restaurant? Too much money.”

Only then does Irene put her phone down. She takes the receipt from him and examines it, furrowing her brow. “Appa, you tipped them twice! A twenty-percent tip was already included. The waiter told you about that, and you said ‘okay, yes.’ You’ve tipped them a total of forty percent!”

Jung-do is speechless, his face reddening in embarrassment.

“Why did you give your consent if you didn’t understand? You’re a paying customer here. You don’t have to nod and say ‘yes, yes’ just to make them comfortable.”

“It’sa okay.” Jung-do chuckles uneasily. 

“Why’re you laughing?” Irene’s lips twitch, her gaze a mix of disapproval and irritation. “It’s not okay. This will happen again and again. Do you have any idea how concerned I am about you? I can’t always be here, listening and speaking for you. I’ll be gone one day, Appa.”

Each word is like a needle piercing his heart. Whatever happened to his daughter who laughed cheerfully during the “super salad” incident? Jung-do can’t believe he’s having the feeling of a sinner again, this time generated by Irene. He’s always wanted to be a hero to her. Hasn’t he been working hard and fulfilling his responsibilities as a father? It’s English that makes him look pathetic to his daughter. All because of that goddamn English.

“Don’t worry me.” Jung-do says. “I become fine. You just worry you. Okay?”

“How can I not worry about you?” Irene’s voice rises. “You can’t even talk to the landlord about replacing your blinds. Do you ever know how your daughter feels when she sees that?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I know.”

“No, you don’t!” Irene breaks into tears. “I’m never able to fully express my thoughts to you, and I’m sure you haven’t been, either. Appa, you never taught me Korean and never even encouraged me to speak Korean while you haven’t really gotten better in English. What we share is always so fucking rudimentary and superficial! We can only talk about things like how the weather is and what to eat for dinner. We are never communicating!” 

“It’sa okay. I understand you saying everything.”

“You only think you do!” Irene cries. “I will never know enough Korean to hear you out and your understanding of me will always be limited. We won’t ever be able to know what lies deep in our hearts, Appa.”

“It’sa… okay. It’sa okay.”

“Why do you always say it’s a, it’s a when you speak English? Didn’t I tell you to lose it? No one likes to hear that when they talk to you.”

Jung-do shuts his mouth. He’s aware of his habit, but he doesn’t know why he can’t fix it.

Silence descends upon them. They leave the restaurant, and as soon as they arrive home, Irene goes into her room and locks the door. Jung-do stares blankly at her closed door for half a minute before stepping out of the apartment. 

Jung-do chokes up in his car – sorrow, resentment, regret … the emotions overwhelm him, but he can’t figure out what or who to blame and how to solve anything. Nothing pains him more than this conflict with his daughter, but at the same time, the reality dawns on him. Seriously, what is he going to do when Irene leaves? He’ll be alone. She’s been taking charge of all the important English-related tasks. How will he take care of them by himself? How will he survive? She’s right. He’s even afraid to ask the landlord to replace the stupid blinds.

Jung-do starts driving without a clear destination, but when the West SM Bank comes into view, he abruptly pulls over. He’s been meaning to come back here with Irene for that home loan inquiry.

Jung-do sits a while in his parked car, biting his nails. What he feels today isn’t the frustration from his previous visit. Instead, a sense of realization strikes him: he needs to start taking control of his life independently. He will spend the rest of his life in this country but knowing that his English won’t improve quickly to the level he desires, his options are limited. He can either continue living scared or embrace his flaws with confidence. He inhales a lungful of courage. It’s time for a change that’s been long overdue for the past eleven years.

Jung-do enters the bank. The same guy, Michael, doesn’t recognize him until hearing his accent. 

“I would like to talk manager.” Jung-do’s eyes are resolute.

He gets what he asks for. It’s him, Michael, and Keith, the bank manager, sitting at a roundtable.

“I have right,” Jung-do says. “I am ten years this bank customer.”

“Of course.” Michael straightens his tie. “We’re here to help, Mr. Yoong Doo Lee.”

“No, it’sa J, not Y.” Jung-do enunciates, “and it’s uh, not yoo. And it’sa doe. Not doo.”

“Apologies,” says Michael. “Pronouncing names hasn’t been my strong suit.”

“My interest is loan. My credit good. I want to buy condo.”

Deadpan, both Keith and Michael cast curious glances at Jung-do. Keith starts explaining.

“Stop,” Jung-do interrupts him. “You talking too fast. Slow say to me. Word by word.”

“Sure, Mr. Lee.” Keith slows down and exaggerates each word as if addressing a child. “You. Need. To. Have. A. Verifiable. Source. Of. Income.”

“What’s be-ri-fai-bal? What is a spelling? Slow say to me spelling.”

“Uhm, v-e-r-i-f-i-a-b-l-e.”

“Oh, v, no b! Just a moment, I look my handphone.” He types the letters on his cell phone’s dictionary app. “V-e-r-i-f-i… Oh, I understand. But it’sa my credit high. Seven hundred pipty.”

When Keith responds, Jung-do stops him. “You talk too much fast again. Slow. Slow.”

“Credit. Score. Is. Not. A. Deciding. Factor.”

“Wait,” Jung-do types “deciding factor” in the dictionary. “Okay, I see.”

“We. Need. To. See. Your pay stubs. Tax return. Most recent. I know you submitted your last year’s tax return, but that’s not enough. The bank requires up-to-date information.”   

“Padon? Too much you say. Prease write down.”

Keith writes his words down on a piece of paper. Jung-do reads Keith’s dictation.

“Is my wipe tax report no?” he asks. “She is die. But she was credit more excellent and she tax report clean many years more.”

“The spouse’s past pay stubs do not count, no matter how excellent they were.”

“Padon? What the word? Spa-woo, something like that? How to spell?”

“S-p-o-u-s-e.”

“Wait,” Jung-do finds the word on his phone screen. “Wow, it meaning my wipe! Why I never know this? I learn because of you.”

“What we’re saying is that your deceased spouse’s pay stubs will have nothing to do with your loan application.”

“Padon? What the word? DC?”

“Deceased… It means dead, no longer alive.”

“Oh, you helping me learn many impotant words.”

“The bottom line is that your loan application will strictly be based on your current income. Forget about the past records of you or your wife. Let’s focus on your current pay stub and this year’s tax return.”

“Padon? Too long.”

Keith gives himself a pause before he rephrases his point: “Wife’s credit, no. Your credit, yes. Your past tax report, no. Your report of this year, yes.”

The two men in formal suits keep doing their best to answer all of Jung-do’s questions and demands. When the bank’s closing time is near, Jung-do stands up.

“Thank you bery much. You both.”

“Sure, Mr. Lee.” Keith says with a forced smile and wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. 

Before turning his back, Jung-do tells them, “I come here again. I bring next time more document. I have still many question. Also. I want to my credit card upgrade.”

“Of course,” Keith says, exchanging a nervous look with Michael. Like it or not, it seems clear they will have to get used to his Engrish.

As Jung-do walks away, a smile plays on his lips. He hasn’t accomplished anything tangible at the bank today, but if his classmates, teachers, and even his daughter were here, they probably would’ve cheered and said, “fighting!” for him. Although his English hasn’t changed, he has decided not to feel ashamed of it. His future in this adopted country won’t be as disheartening as it once seemed, so long as he accepts himself the way he is.