[Weekend Essay 3 ]
A Story of My Mother, My Aunt, and the S
— A Story of My Mother, My Aunt, and the Senior Center
As always, I headed to my mother’s house for the weekend.
But this time, something felt different.
The moment I stepped through the gate, I saw that my mother’s face was filled with frustration.
> “What’s wrong, Mom?”
She didn’t answer at first, just swept the floor in silence.
Then, after a while, she finally spoke.
> “Your aunt was boasting again.
Her grandson got a job at Samsung—or was it Hyundai? She just wouldn’t stop.”
My aunt is a year older than my mother.
Her husband passed away early, and all three of her children have left the nest.
She lives alone now, but still full of energy, especially at the senior center.
My mother and aunt have been through everything together—
planting rice, harvesting potatoes, tending orchards.
They’ve shared laughter, tears, and even back injuries.
Sometimes they’re like sisters, sometimes like best friends,
and sometimes they bicker like old rivals.
> “She kept saying the same thing three times.
I thought my ears would fall off.”
Though she grumbled, it was clear my mother felt a bit defeated.
> “I don’t even know where my own grandkids work.
I can’t even brag about them…”
I told her gently:
> “One of your grandkids works at the headquarters of Volkswagen in Germany.
The other one? At Naver—the site you use every day.
Just tell people that. It’s the best company.”
She nodded silently.
---
That night, I went to bed earlier than usual.
By 4:30 a.m., I was awake—before my alarm rang.
I tiptoed downstairs and softly shut the bedroom door
so I wouldn’t wake my wife.
This morning’s menu: cabbage wraps, sweet pumpkin porridge, and steamed soft tofu with egg.
Sometimes I wonder why I go through so much effort.
At first, it was her delighted face that kept me going.
But now, every Friday night I find myself wondering,
> “What should I bring this time?”
Even if my dishes don’t suit her taste,
even if she pushes them aside without a word,
it’s still enough for me.
I prepare them anyway—because I love her.
---
The countryside wakes early.
By 4 or 5 a.m., most grandmothers are already working outside.
If I arrive late, my mother has already started her farm work.
No matter how much pain she’s in,
she never lets me see her resting.
> “If I just sit around when you’re coming, what good is that? I’m fine.”
That “I’m fine” always weighs on my heart.
That day, she glanced at the food bag,
paused for a moment,
then walked out silently to the pepper field.
---
The next day, after returning from the senior center,
my mother was smiling.
> “I bragged. Told them he works at the best computer company.”
> “What did the other ladies say?”
> “They just said, ‘What’s that?’ and ‘What kind of place is that?’ I didn’t really know either.”
She laughed, a bit confused, but proud.
For once, she didn’t come home feeling discouraged.
That evening, she brought steamed potatoes and cucumber salad to my aunt.
That’s how they make peace.
They bicker, sulk, smile, and take care of each other again.
That’s their way.
---
On my drive home,
a bag of lettuce, chives, and water kimchi sat on the back seat.
It wasn’t heavy baggage—
it was light-hearted love.
> Once again, I merely pretended to be a dutiful son.
And once again, my mother was ready to boast about me.
mother weekend story, Korean countryside, senior center, family essay, emotional writing, aging and love, pepper field, mother’s pride, Korean grandma story, rural life, son and mother, healing essay, intergenerational bond
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