Vegetable, Person, Vegetable
MAYPAPER Kunah 05
이 매거진은 한국어를 읽지 못하는 저의 아들과 친구들을 위해 발행하는 영어버전의 매거진입니다.
This magazine is an English version publication created for my son and my friends who cannot read Korean.
한국어 버전의 글 : https://brunch.co.kr/@maypaperkunah/22
"I'd like to order a small latte.
Please use soy milk, but about a third less than usual.
Just add one spoonful of sugar please."
"For the meal, I'll have the Big Brekkie.
Please cook the egg yolks thoroughly,
And don't overcook the bacon; not too crispy please.
Toast the bread lightly, and give me the butter on the side, please.
Leave out the carrots,
But could you give me more mushrooms instead?"
I made up an order just in my imagination.
If someone placed an order that way in a Korean cafe, they might come across as demanding. But in Australia, it’s fine to place such a complicated order. I've never actually ordered like this myself, nor have I paid close attention to others' detailed orders, so I can't say exactly what kind of orders people place.
However, when standing in line to order at a cafe, it's not uncommon to see people pouring out their orders non-stop, almost like they are rapping at the counter, explaining their specific requirements. Sometimes, someone might order five coffees, each with a different custom request.
Inside, I think,
'This is a bit over the top,'
but then I see the cafe staff kindly noting down even those seemingly unreasonable and individualistic orders, and I realise that this too is part of Australian culture.
A culture where each individual's needs are respected.
A culture where each person's preferences are confidently expressed.
I am unmistakably Korean. (or “I’m obviously Korean.” / “It’s clear that I’m not from around here.”)
So, what about my order?
Mine is simple and clear.
'An iced latte, please.'
The transaction is swift, completed in just 10 seconds.
In fact, at times like this, I even feel a bit embarrassed.
I sometimes feel alienated, as if I'm from a different world.
Especially when I’m the only one ordering an iced drink,
Now, I too have become a regular at the cafe. Every employee who greets me asks me the same question first when they see my face. “Iced latte?”
Suddenly, I found my identity among people. I am a Korean woman who orders iced lattes.
So, where did this Australian culture - a culture where everyone orders something different and it is accepted as it is - originate? I couldn't find an answer to this question for a while, but I got some hints while meeting various people in a watercolour art class.
Each individual has a strong personality,
and everyone occupies their own unique place.
So they are irreplaceable.
So everyone is confident in themselves.
Bob, who needed someone to talk to, kindly showed me his paintings and spent over 10 minutes telling me his life story. When he lost his wife, he said he started painting because his daughter enrolled him in the course I was doing. His work had its own style that no one could imitate, and it was a reflection of who he was. He worked as an engineer all his life, and his drawings resembled Australian buildings with neat lines.
Laura, who didn’t hesitate to approach me, had a lot of questions as she was learning watercolour for the first time. So she would often spend an hour chatting with the tutor, letting time slip away. Each week their discussions became deeper and more profound.
She learned more about watercolour than me.
In their discussions, opinions clashed and alligned, and then there was a mix of boisterous laughter and silent smiles. Even though I was sitting far away, their words captivated me. I was able to experience first-hand the sophisticated debate culture of Australians. Laura’s paintings were completed in a flash. Her paintings were bold and courageous.
David, the tutor who danced in front of the students, talked about music for the entire two hours. And at the end of the class, he looked at the students' work, took a picture of it, posted it on Facebook with complimentary comments, and concluded the class by complimenting us again.
At first, I was thinking “What kind of watercolour class is this? I’m not learning anything!” In the second week I realised immediately that I was mistaken. There were about 10 students, each with their own painting style!!! This was actually a shock. Even without any direct teaching, the students were learning in their own ways. David consistently praised the students' unique styles encouraging their individual artistic development.
I looked at my painting. The colours were pale, but contained infinite shades, and my painting technique was careful and slow. My painting was also a reflection of me, and was distinctly different from other people's paintings. Upon closer comparison, I realised that my paintings were Korean, as they were born in Korea and grew up there for 30 years. I signed up for an art class because I wanted to experience Australia's art culture, but I ended up discovering Korea in my paintings.
I was a Korean artist in my paintings.
I feel more attracted to unfinished paintings,
Love the blank space,
Paint watercolours like Korean paintings.
In Korea, comparing myself with others harmed my self-esteem and sense of existence. Here, where everyone is different and there's no one to compare myself with, I found my true self and the reason for my existence among them.
Vegetable, vegetable, vegetable, vegetable,
Carrots, cucumbers, mushrooms, eggplants.
Carrots cannot replace mushrooms.
But,
Without carrots, mushrooms are possible.
Person, person, person, person
Bob, Laura, Kunah, David
Bob cannot replace Kunah.
Moreover, even more so, it is inevitable that
Without ME, Bob should not be able to take my place.
Looking at 'myself among others,'
I found 'me,'
And it became clearly evident
That I am different
From them.
I was created through a special order.
I majored in Korean painting,
Majored in fashion design,
Majored in design.
Doing book design,
Drawing and painting,
Also writing,
And I live in Australia.
I’ve become confident.
Is there anyone who can replace me now?
The third gift from Australia is ‘Korean Kunah’.
“Kun” means “hibiscus”, and “Ah” means “beautiful”.
I live up to my name, a beautiful Korean hibiscus, who is blooming in Australia.
