Bena, Korean
Bena is from California and an alum of the 2023 NSLI-Y Korean Summer program. She is interested in translation and linguistics puzzles. She also likes taking pictures of stray cats and doing sudoku.
When my roommate and I were called to the roof for dinner in the first few days of homestay, my Korean consisted of 6th grade Duolingo and a short pre-program lesson plan covering the basics. Deeply averse to embarrassment, I was ready to let my roommate, who had been studying Korean for quite a while, speak for the both of us.
It turned out that we didn't need words, though. Instead, sounds of agreement, “네~” and “아~”, resounded across the small rooftop table, nods and hand gestures in abundance. Our host mom taught us how to assemble the dish, from the lettuce, homegrown only a few feet away, used to wrap the meat; to sweet and spicy 고추장, gochujang, that we generously slathered on the leaves; to the star of the show: succulent pork belly dripping with hot oil.
The second time we ate 삼겹살 was in late July, the middle of the program. Now more familiar with my host family and armed with vocabulary and conjugations from weekday Korean lessons, there was no shortage of conversation. The topic of instruments came up, and our host mom revealed that our host dad could play an instrument. He disappeared into the apartment, and we speculated on what it could be. Perhaps the violin, like my roommate, but probably not the piano, which I played. To our surprise, he emerged with a Korean flute, and our evening ended with traditional melodies.
In August, the homestay portion of my summer in Seoul concluded with 삼겹살. The rooftop view overlooking Suwon was familiar now, and I had gotten to know my host parents in many aspects beyond the information letter we'd received six weeks ago. My host mom was a calligraphy artist and had been a professor of Chinese; when my Korean was in the works, Chinese got us by. My host dad, aside from being an instrumentalist, had a wide range of advice to give us; we knew how to avoid the “bean sprout” train, named for being so packed with people that it resembled growing bean sprouts when commuting home.
As the pork sizzled on the grill, I took a panorama of the view, knowing it would be the last time I'd see it. The food disappeared slower that evening, as if never finishing the meal meant never leaving the city. Time couldn’t pass slowly enough. Soon, when the moon, our stomachs, and our hearts were full, it became time for dinner to come to a close.
I brought back language from Korea, but I also brought back memories, intertwined with daily practices that now hold new meanings. 삼겹살 will always bring me back to my summer in Seoul and serve as a reminder of my journey with my host family.