a short story by Roger B Rueda
While I was drinking coffee with a poet friend in Starbucks, an old college friend introduced me to her gay boss and one night I got a call from him and persuaded me to work at the language centre where she worked. They were in need of someone who had spoken English since they were a baby. Well, I thought it was exhausting commuting from Makati to Quezon City where my company was located, every day, so I decided to accept the offer right away. It was a nice job and financially worthwhile.
All of twenty, I was so naïve: I was too willing to believe that someone was telling the truth, that people's intentions in general were good, or that life was simple and fair. Well, perhaps, I was naïve because I was young and hadn’t had much experience of life that time. Never had I had any serious relationships in the past year. D'you think I was still a virgin that time? Of course I was.
Well, normally at twenty, a woman like me then was never naïve anymore. But I was. I don’t know. That time, I was curious about everything around me especially about having a relationship with a guy although I had learned a lot of information on different subjects by reading.
Reading and cooking are my favourite pastimes.
An ESL/EFL teacher, I met my Korean boyfriend when I was all of twenty-one; he was all of twenty-seven. He was my student. Our meeting started at the language centre and that was how we became a couple.
'Please write your full name,' I told him. Then, he wrote 'Se-hyuk' on my pad. He looked so manly. 'What’s your family name?' He had a broad smile on his face and an appealing personality.
'Moon.' He was very confident though he spoke with erratic English. But he was easy to teach. I was his discussion teacher. So, our class was very exciting to him. Every day, I looked forward to teaching him and, perhaps, he, too, to his studying with me as he’d come five minutes before the time. I felt so lively whenever I had class with him.
'Very very help me Fe,' he told me. I knew the principal of the centre would always say it was helpful if the teachers would correct their students’ pronunciation and grammar. But I intentionally didn’t listen or give attention to his mistakes. In his case I’d make an exception because I was thinking about him with affection.
Every day, as I looked at him, he got handsomer and handsomer and it made me mesmerised. Then after some weeks I fell in love with him. For one, he was very gentle with his classmates.
'Se-hyuk, did you like the Victoria sandwich I gave you.' I wanted to know whether he liked the perfect Victoria sponge I made for him. It was one of my favourites then. I was keen, you know, to perfect my cooking technique.
'Yes, I'm really really like it,' replied by him joyfully. It was nice to be able to bring a smile to his face.
I had a hot date every night. We had used to eat out all the time since then.
Every morning, he’d call me at home and we had a brief chat. Or sometimes, we’d natter away on the phone all evening.
'Se-hyuk, you must get some sleep - aren’t you exhausted?'
'Well, good night - sleep well,' he told me. It was the set expression I had taught him.
It was I who suggested the idea that we should become a couple till he went back to Korea. He smiled, his eyes almost crinkled, and I knew that he accepted my suggestion.
Time seemed to pass by so fast. I was afraid that our relation would end. But he promised to come back after two or three months. Well, he did. We hugged each other. He kissed me on my cheeks and on my mouth several times.
'Did you miss? Did you miss me?' he asked me while taking his present for me. It was wrapped with bright yellow and pink paper. I unwrapped it straight away. It was a gold watch with diamond cushion case and 14-carat braided bangle.
That visit lasted for seven months. I was extremely in love with him. I thought the love which I was fighting for was true love. I even left my family and decided to cohabit with him. There, I learned how to be a
wife. I thought I had been in Korea. Sometimes, I’d spend a pleasant afternoon looking at photographs in the magazines he’d bought from Korea.
He taught me how to speak Korean even how notoriously difficult it was. 'Annyeonghaseyo!'
'Jeogeo jeseyo!' he gave me a note pad and pen for taking notes.
He taught me how to cook Korean food. I really enjoyed cooking Korean food though it took a lot of time to know that art of perfecting it. Some Korean dishes are simple and some are complex and they can be light or hearty.
So now, I am good at cooking peppery Korean ojinguh jut (pickled squid). It packs a lot of flavour, so it's the perfect accompaniment to a traditional Korean meal with rice and soup or stew. Sehyuk loved it so well because of its gochujang (chili pepper paste) and gochukaru (chili pepper powder).
When I turned twenty-two, it was sad that he had to go back home to Korea.
'Take good care of yourself. Sarang hae!' He was handsome with the merino wool polo shirt I had bought for him. I just nodded. 'Annyeonghi gyeseyo!'
Then at that time I discovered I was pregnant. I ignored my not having a period and checked it six months later because I did it calculatedly, having an idea in my mind that when I had my baby developing inside my womb, we would get married. Then I easily moved back to my family in Salcedo Village from our apartment on Nobel Street.
Every day, I would cry. That was because it seemed incongruous doing things without him. For one, I used to live and eat together with him. So then, I didn't feel like eating. I depended on him so much. But never did he forget to keep in touch, and that made me live in hope.
'Sung Tan Chuk Ha! How are you?' I was adorning the Christmas tree kept in the home with colourful light bulbs, synthetic poinsettias, and ornamental balls.
Gradually though, rarely did he communicate because he thought it would be impossible to keep our relationship anymore. To him, visiting the Philippines was the last until I e-mailed him and broke out the news that I had been with child for almost six months. He rang me up whether it was true or not. I bought a pregnancy-testing kit, and eventually went to St Claire’s - just to confirm I was with child. (Until now I keep the kit and the result in my room; they are placed in my drawer.)
He talked to his family about our situation. His father, though, told him that if he’d marry me, they’d turn their back on him. I have learned that most Korean parents do not favour any mixed-race marriage. They are quite conservative until these days. He didn’t want me to suffer and have a difficult life, so he suggested that I should have my baby aborted. At first, it was a battle. It put me in a situation in which a difficult choice had to be made between two things I could do. I vacillated between two poles of moves, that was I should keep my child and not. I had to face the ordeal though that time I was depressed and felt totally hopeless about my future. He’d call me several times in a day to convince me. For instance, he told me that if I loved him I had to do it. Since I was blindly in love with him I agreeably followed him. I don’t know why never did I feel any a strong feeling which made me want to hurt him or be unpleasant because of something unfair or hurtful that had happened. I talked to the child in my womb that I didn’t want us both to suffer, for I might not be able to support her when she grew up. I didn’t want my child to grow up without her father nor myself without a husband. I guessed the child and I had a connection and that led me to a high school friend, who introduced me to an abortionist. The abortionist asked me Php 10,000. I informed him immediately and he deposited Php 100,000 in my account. He told me that that money was for payment of the abortion and the rest was for spending on my own personal things.
So, I went to the back-street abortionist. After, I followed her to stay in her house.
'Remove your knickers,' she told me. I was very nervous. I knew it was dangerous. I knew I might die for what I was doing.
Then she made the intentional ending of my pregnancy. Bit by bit over some hours, she pulled the baby down after she inserted an instrument in me. It took me for about eleven hours. I was almost dying because I almost became unconscious, to go into labour to push the baby out of my body until the baby appeared. She was not dead yet. The abortionist told me I had an option, I could bring the baby to the hospital, but people might ask me how I delivered her; the police might investigate as well. I was scared and worried of a public feeling of shock and strong moral disapproval it might cause. For four hours, I carried her in my arms and I talked to her to forgive me and she needed to rest. Shortly, she stopped crying, peacefully.
My eyes were very red as I looked at myself in the mirror on the wall. I didn't notice that I cry a lot. The abortionist took my baby from me. She wrapped her with a piece of multi-coloured fabric. I hugged her once more. 'Baby, please forgive me.' I closed my eyes and took a rest for about an hour and stood dazed and weak-kneed beside the bed to leave.
It was dark by the time I arrived home.
'You’re a killer,' said Mummy when I entered our house as I was pushing the door shut. I understood what she was angry about. I just closed my eyes and cried.
There, there, don't cry, I raised my spirits.
Perhaps if I hadn’t had the abortion, possibly, my daughter would be all of seven now. It took me two years to get back my life from the pain. I went to England then, which if it had not been for it, I could have been depressed then - or have been until now. My paternal family, in England, were supportive. They helped me to forget what had happened to me and to my life.
Such a thing was traumatic that I didn’t want to meet people anymore. I hated talking to people. I liked being alone in my flat. Eventually, we lost communication. I deleted his e-mail and his mobile number, which was to totally forget him and for me to start a new life. I sat out on the porch of the hotel and looked at the people talking to each other while sipping their teas. I looked at the sky and saw that the clouds form like my baby. She was smiling, telling me in my heart that she had already forgiven me.
I enrolled on the modern art course at King’s. Later, I decided to pursue a career in writing and preferred to freelance from home rather than to work in an office.
***
That was not the story. So, what actually happened? The real story was that Maria Fe Lee, my mother, died when she delivered me. Born with slightly blue skin, she'd got a bad heart. I never had a chance to see my mother. But I know her very well through the books she left. I just reworked the last part of her story. She had never enrolled on the modern art course at King’s. It was just her inclination. I just had a very vivid imagination. And never did she plump for abortion. Otherwise, never had I got a chance to be alive, had she been self-seeking and unfeeling.
'Go on, have a good cry,' said my husband, stroking my hair as he was drinking his tea for his arthritis. He took Mummy’s notebook of her short stories, packed it off in a transparent aluminium box, and kept it in the bottom drawer made of light-weight, translucent plastic. It produced a soft, almost eerie glow, as it was closed by him by remote control.
Daddy and his parents, my
jobumo, attended her funeral. After a month, he took me to London, a place made up of a rich tapestry of villages. It is where I have spent my life since then up to this year. As a matter of fact, I will be celebrating my 75th birthday at the Egerton House Hotel where I will be launching Mummy’s novel I have edited and published posthumously by me and my husband, who is a true sister under the skin.
Daddy, a restaurateur, died a natural death in St Ann's Hospital in Harringay, as he would have wanted. There was a full moon that night. We buried him ten years ago in his hometown in Daejeon in the Koreas. He never completely forgot his broad Korean accent. And I must say that it's surprising to find a man not looking for another woman after his lover’s passing away.
When I was at the London Waldorf School, I just got in touch with my grandparents in Korea and the Philippines through a mobile. But now, things have changed a lot. I have a communication cube, a sleek and multifunctional thingamajig which I wear around my neck. Of course, I’d go to the Koreas and the Philippines on vacation. In both countries I was amazed by how well people spoke English; all the more nowadays.
In 2019, the year after my debut and when I first met my then husband-to-be (now my husband), my first e-book where I included my mother’s unpublished memoir was presented. My grandchildren listen to my story collections through their watches, jewellery, and eye wear, all are high-tech. They are wireless and look cool as they use the Bluetooth technology to connect RF to their ear buds. My grandchildren enjoy reading or listening to stories especially my stories.
'Gradma, I have wine for you. It’s made from organically grown grapes from a health farm in Baguio.' My granddaughter has arrived from the Philippines. 'I have old photographs of our ancestors from our Makati house.'
There is a really noisy table behind me celebrating the Lee-Moon Museum’s first year anniversary. On the slim table made from a steel frame painted a white colour are my favourites: dak galbi (spicy stirred-fried chicken), kimchi chigae (spicy cabbage soup), tukbokki (spicy rice cake with vegetables), barbecued bangus (milk fish), chicken adobo, Yorkshire pudding, and Lancashire hotpot.
By the way, Lee-Moon Museum was originally a small room in our house, which I converted into my mother’s undersized museum last year. It’s the only room painted a pale yellow colour. So, my family help me to collect museum pieces about my mother and her unpublished writings from the Philippines.
***
She didn’t go back to the abortionist anymore. Her love for me pricked her conscience and she decided not to abort me, her little one, whatever would happen.
She e-mailed Daddy that she had changed her mind. So after round about three months, she was delivered of me. On that day, 26 April 2000, she died in her sleep an hour after she was in difficult labour for twelve hours with me.
Ignore the pain, Maria. You have to get used to it. If you want the memories to stay then be ready to suffer. Don't let go yet. Let the memories stay. Stay. Let the memory of your baby stay even if it's only in your own mind, in your heart. You will miss her face and her lips.
All the hurt subsided and all that was left were happy memories. She decided to move forward as she closed her eyes for all time.
That day, my
jobumo, my Korean grandparents,
had already changed their minds about my parents’ nuptials, so they were supposed to visit the Philippines for it as quickly as they could. Then as planned, Daddy would bring Mummy and me to London as he’d manage a restaurant there. And so, I have this Moon Caff situated two miles north of the city centre. Although my café has several machines to perform jobs automatically, which is controlled by a computer, I have some Filipino and Korean waiters in my café. They are very diligent about their work.
Daddy and my grandparents were present at her funeral, instead. My maternal family had a video made of Mummy’s funeral. Everybody especially Daddy wept buckets when Mummy was buried in the garden of remembrance.
***
Such a thing is painful, but it reminds me how my mother cared for me, at great personal sacrifice. From the porch of our house, I can see people talking to each other as they slowly sip at their teas, every afternoon. And looking up into the sky, I always see the clouds form like Mummy smiling and telling me in my heart how happy she is now.
***
On BBC London, April Joy Moon-Demick's
Manila won huge praise from the judges.
Filipino-born English author April Joy Moon-Demick Wednesday won this year's Orange Prize for Fiction for her novel
Manila, which tells the story of a woman as she returns to Manila to resolve the differences with her past.
The prize, worth 80,000 pounds, recognises a work of fiction written by women around the world.
Manila is Demick's sixth novel in nearly 40 years.
The 74-year-old author beat American first-time novelist Leah Kingsolver, who was in the running for
Paolo, a story about a man with AIDS.
The shortlist also included authors Marjorie Marlow and Edith Meyer, Korean writer Helen Choi and another Filipino-born English author Merlie Pantoja Smith.
Ophelia Doucet, chair of the judges, described the winning book as 'a kind, prudent, heartening novel, elegantly crafted.'
'We were unanimously agreed - it is a profound work of art,' she said at the award ceremony for the 89th Orange Prize in London's Royal Festival Hall.
Demick was described by the
Sunday Times last year as 'the world's best writer of prose.'
Manila centres around Phoebe, who returns home after 20 years looking for refuge.
'It's a work that deepens your life with its delicate prose,' said Doucet.
'It's a book of understanding and compassion that never leans towards overemotional schmaltziness, in fact its message is quite unyielding.'
Accepting the award, Demick said: 'I'm so indebted. This is such a fantastic event and a wonderful organisation. It certainly is the most elegant, brilliant platform for women's literature that I can envisage.'
***
Long live my daughter April Joy. Mummy’s ghost haunts my room talking to me when I am sleeping. She provides inspiration for my writing. We always talk late into the night.
