My mother is always complaining, criticizing, and lamenting. She went along on my beauty consultation experiment(yes, the damn wedding stuff) with me and my sister today.
We started out early, 8:45am (and yes, for the Park girls, this is most definitely an early hour - especially on a Saturday!). I picked them up at Wany's house and headed to the beauty salon.
After two and a half hours at the salon, I booked appointments for hair and make up and realized I was hungry. We decided to chow down at Portillo's, always one of my favorites.
A cheeseburger, hot dog, pasta and one chicken salad later (shared between the three of us), my mother bust out in tears...in public! I'd never seen her do that.
She explained that it had hit her, hit her hard, at the beauty salon when I was getting my make up applied and getting yelled at by the make up artist for exfoliating daily. She confided in us that she felt a wall of emotion come over her. She was happy for me and my upcoming marriage, but she realized the last of her 'kids' was flying the coop so to speak. My mother actually put it this way...
"You'll understand when you have children of your own and they get married off...you're leaving to start a life of your own...I'm happy for you (sniff, sniff) but it feels like D-Day is approaching..."
At first, as is my usual reaction to her comments, I felt angry. I was angry that she related my wedding day, what is going to be the happiest day of my life to D-Day! What the heck was she thinking? I looked over at my sister to gain agreement to my reaction...but instead (and fortunately) I was reminded to be understanding and kind.
I was reminded to read between the lines.
Here was this woman, my mother, who had raised me, cared for me, and comforted me through thick and thin, who paid for piano lessons and Girl Scout camp trips, uniforms, and supported any interest I pursued even when she and my father barely had two pennies to rub together, who was now breaking down in public in silent tears, and my first reaction was anger. I was ashamed.
You see, my mother's generation (and to some extent, most of Korean culture) looks upon marriage as a separation rather than the joining of families, especially for daughters. What was once family, meaning my father, my mother, my sister and myself became me and my mother when Wany got married (our father passed away in 1997), and on April 29th, 2005, that family would only be my mom.
It wouldn't matter that she would continue to lecture me as I would still be her daughter, her family, because in her mind, I was marrying into Alex's family.
Maybe she thought I would forget that before I was Wany's sister, or someone's friend, or a project manager or someone's fiancee, that I was her daughter first (sniff, sniff).
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
Gulls at the Outpost
In my pursuit of a thinner body, I was at the gym last night working out. I'd already run a mile on the track, and at that point I was on the treadmill doing some fast incline walking and feeling really good about myself. Then a group of teenage volleyball playing (they play on a league at the gym), short-short wearing, bubble gum chewing, still smell like baby powder and Bonnie Bell lip gloss wearing girls descended around my treadmill all at once like a flock of sea gulls surrounding abandoned sardine.
One itty-bitty girl started her treadmill at 5.5mph as a warm up. I struggle to endure 30 minutes of 4.7mph. I felt jealous of their youth. Nothing on them jiggled like jello, they had no laugh lines, no fine lines, no lines of any kind, they had healthy hair not damaged by years of high lights/low lights...I could have gone on and on. All of a sudden, my accomlishment for the night seemed small.
About two minutes after the girls swarmed around my machine, they got bored. The sea gulls noticed American Idol was on and was desperately trying to figure out how to 'watch' it. We have TV's in front of the machines at the gym. There are 8 TV sets altogether, all on a different channel. There is a receiver/control on each machine which allows the users to pick the TV station they want (numbered 1 thru 8) and adjust the volume on the user's head set.
They kept pressing the volume button on the receiver attached to the machine but nothing happened. They assumed the receiver worked like a remote control...just like at home. Then the 5.5mph girl got off her machine, walked over to the TV set and started upping the volume on the TV. Suddenly a shrill 'Ouch!' comes from behind me. A woman who had been watching the show via her head set pulled her head set off in pain. I guess if you turn the volume up manually from the TV set, it affects those listening on the headset as well. 'Itty-Bitty' stepped away from the set and did the walk of shame into the locker room.
I smirked and kept walking. Stupid sea gulls.
One itty-bitty girl started her treadmill at 5.5mph as a warm up. I struggle to endure 30 minutes of 4.7mph. I felt jealous of their youth. Nothing on them jiggled like jello, they had no laugh lines, no fine lines, no lines of any kind, they had healthy hair not damaged by years of high lights/low lights...I could have gone on and on. All of a sudden, my accomlishment for the night seemed small.
About two minutes after the girls swarmed around my machine, they got bored. The sea gulls noticed American Idol was on and was desperately trying to figure out how to 'watch' it. We have TV's in front of the machines at the gym. There are 8 TV sets altogether, all on a different channel. There is a receiver/control on each machine which allows the users to pick the TV station they want (numbered 1 thru 8) and adjust the volume on the user's head set.
They kept pressing the volume button on the receiver attached to the machine but nothing happened. They assumed the receiver worked like a remote control...just like at home. Then the 5.5mph girl got off her machine, walked over to the TV set and started upping the volume on the TV. Suddenly a shrill 'Ouch!' comes from behind me. A woman who had been watching the show via her head set pulled her head set off in pain. I guess if you turn the volume up manually from the TV set, it affects those listening on the headset as well. 'Itty-Bitty' stepped away from the set and did the walk of shame into the locker room.
I smirked and kept walking. Stupid sea gulls.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Beauty Shop Outpost
I continue my search for the perfect wedding day look.
So far, the search has been alarmingly frightful!
Actually, I've only been to one person so far, a Korean lady. Why you may ask?
Because I've seen the way some make up artists have ruined my fellow asian girlfriends' face by treating it like a caucasian face. Our noses are not so sigh, our eyes not so wide, our brow bone not so forward, and we have our own skin tone and color palette.
I made an appointment at 3pm for a hair and make up consultation with a Korean lady.
3:05pm on Saturday afternoon I arrive at 'beauty' salon. Mom is already there waiting for me.
First time in history she has shown up anywhere on time. This is the first sign that something is 'off'.
The make up and hair person is running 15 minutes late. I graciously nod my head and agree to wait.
If I knew then what I know now, that would have been the opportunity for me to excuse myself and leave.
3:28pm I am seated at the make up chair. It feels like a dental chair. This was my second sign that things were 'off'.
Korean lady pins my hair straight back. I look five years old now. She begins with make up and an insult, which is the Korean custom of beginning any kind of conversation, by telling me, "you skin is too red...too dry...you drink water, no?" At hearing this, my mother chimes in with another insult (this time in Korean to the make up lady).
"This is my oldest daughter. She doesn't take care of herself anymore like she used to. She scrubs her face hard with a louffa and doesn't moisturize because she says she has oily skin. It's foolishness." And so the make up application began.
I'm not sure I knew all that was being done to me, but I could certainly tell when she was trying to trim and clean up around my eye brows. She used a device that actually shaves the eye brow hair off. So when I started feeling a slight burning sensation on my eyelid, I made a noise to let her know she was about to dig for gold under my skin. This was the third sign something was 'off', but I let her continue her work. Who knows? Maybe in the end, I would be okay with the work.
45 minutes later, I got a full view of my new face. I had perfectly matched base color (not too white, not too dark). I also had grey eye liner on my lower lid. I haven't worn eye liner on the lower lid since junior high school. I had purple eye shadow lining my upper lid. I have NEVER worn purple eye shadow in my entire life. My lips were lined dark pink/red, then a slightly frosty pink was applied on the inside. I have not worn pink since junior high shcool and have never used a pink/red lip liner. I looked like a bar maid.
I should have left the 'beauty' salon at this point and time. But I didn't leave. I stayed and let this Korean lady attempt to style my hair. I brought in a magazine with a photo of my dress and the kind of hair style I wanted for my big day. The style I wanted was a bit wavy, toussled, and piecey on the ends with lots of volume on top and back. She curled my entire head. What I got was an 18 year old me with a perm on a bad hair day. When I expressed that my tresses were too curly, she suggested that for the wavy look I showed her from the magazine, she'd recommend I get a wave perm. I have no idea what the fascination is between Koreans and perms, but for as long as I could remember, perms and Korean ladies always went together like peanut butter and jelly. I hadn't been a willing consumer of that combination since I was 18 years old.
I was wrong. I had imagined another Korean would know how to do make up for an asian face, and in fact, they do...but for someone still living in the 80s.
My search continues this Saturday at 8:45am...this time, at an American salon where they offer you coffee, juice, water, and magazines as well as other snacks and actually ask you about you. I'm getting my deposit back from the Korean lady.
So far, the search has been alarmingly frightful!
Actually, I've only been to one person so far, a Korean lady. Why you may ask?
Because I've seen the way some make up artists have ruined my fellow asian girlfriends' face by treating it like a caucasian face. Our noses are not so sigh, our eyes not so wide, our brow bone not so forward, and we have our own skin tone and color palette.
I made an appointment at 3pm for a hair and make up consultation with a Korean lady.
3:05pm on Saturday afternoon I arrive at 'beauty' salon. Mom is already there waiting for me.
First time in history she has shown up anywhere on time. This is the first sign that something is 'off'.
The make up and hair person is running 15 minutes late. I graciously nod my head and agree to wait.
If I knew then what I know now, that would have been the opportunity for me to excuse myself and leave.
3:28pm I am seated at the make up chair. It feels like a dental chair. This was my second sign that things were 'off'.
Korean lady pins my hair straight back. I look five years old now. She begins with make up and an insult, which is the Korean custom of beginning any kind of conversation, by telling me, "you skin is too red...too dry...you drink water, no?" At hearing this, my mother chimes in with another insult (this time in Korean to the make up lady).
"This is my oldest daughter. She doesn't take care of herself anymore like she used to. She scrubs her face hard with a louffa and doesn't moisturize because she says she has oily skin. It's foolishness." And so the make up application began.
I'm not sure I knew all that was being done to me, but I could certainly tell when she was trying to trim and clean up around my eye brows. She used a device that actually shaves the eye brow hair off. So when I started feeling a slight burning sensation on my eyelid, I made a noise to let her know she was about to dig for gold under my skin. This was the third sign something was 'off', but I let her continue her work. Who knows? Maybe in the end, I would be okay with the work.
45 minutes later, I got a full view of my new face. I had perfectly matched base color (not too white, not too dark). I also had grey eye liner on my lower lid. I haven't worn eye liner on the lower lid since junior high school. I had purple eye shadow lining my upper lid. I have NEVER worn purple eye shadow in my entire life. My lips were lined dark pink/red, then a slightly frosty pink was applied on the inside. I have not worn pink since junior high shcool and have never used a pink/red lip liner. I looked like a bar maid.
I should have left the 'beauty' salon at this point and time. But I didn't leave. I stayed and let this Korean lady attempt to style my hair. I brought in a magazine with a photo of my dress and the kind of hair style I wanted for my big day. The style I wanted was a bit wavy, toussled, and piecey on the ends with lots of volume on top and back. She curled my entire head. What I got was an 18 year old me with a perm on a bad hair day. When I expressed that my tresses were too curly, she suggested that for the wavy look I showed her from the magazine, she'd recommend I get a wave perm. I have no idea what the fascination is between Koreans and perms, but for as long as I could remember, perms and Korean ladies always went together like peanut butter and jelly. I hadn't been a willing consumer of that combination since I was 18 years old.
I was wrong. I had imagined another Korean would know how to do make up for an asian face, and in fact, they do...but for someone still living in the 80s.
My search continues this Saturday at 8:45am...this time, at an American salon where they offer you coffee, juice, water, and magazines as well as other snacks and actually ask you about you. I'm getting my deposit back from the Korean lady.
Monday, March 14, 2005
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