Kimchi

"This is Water"

This spicy side dish stars in every single breakfast, lunch, and dinner for a fellow like me. Without it, a meal seems incomplete; it lacks that hot component that many Koreans love, even though I personally think it is refreshing. It is fermented cabbage that is massaged with this red paste plus spices. Despite being incredibly delicious, there is a drawback: kimchi has this odor that sticks. That is why my mom never let me take some to school.

She was worried that other kids would make fun of me for smelling, and then I would get bullied - and leave school because I was Korean. None of this really made sense to me though. I just wanted some kimchi to compliment my other non-stinky foods and live the life I'm supposed to live. I guess I understood why my mother didn't want me to. She knows what bullying is; being an immigrant, she knows the dangers of being different.

My mother told me a different message than what Amy Tan's narrative "Fish Cheeks" says. Tan's mother asserts to her daughter, "'But inside you must always be Chinese. You must be proud you are different.'" She wants Tan to embrace her culture and not deny the Chinese half of her identity. That is why the mother chooses to cook all of "[Tan's] favorite foods." There is nothing weird about "slimy rock cod with bulging eyes" or a plate of skid that resemble "bicycle tires"; all it is is just the normal foods Tan eats.

At home, a day doesn't pass when I don't eat some kimchi, yet my mother was afraid to show everyone that this is normal to me. Assimilation seems to be the safest choice in America, to eat what everyone else is eating - or to smell acceptable to everyone.

But I still ate that kimchi everyday. And my mom never forgets to put it at the table. She never forgets. With one foot stuck in society's grasp and the other supported by my culture and family, I remember who I am by what I put in my mouth.

And guess what I eat everyday.