Breathe
By María Alatriste
This is the last opinion column I write about South Korea. This country left me with so many reflections that, although I was there for a long time, it did not give me enough space to write everything I wanted to. From its food, its traditions, to its cultural differences and language barriers. Everything was a challenge and at the same time an enriching learning experience.
Thanks to Google translator, I was able to engage in some elementary conversations, very few people speak English. Even reading the signs was not easy, as I did not always understand what they were about, unless there were pictures. Everything in Korea is so rich and so abysmally different.
One thing I noticed is how quiet childhood is. I know this is just a personal assessment, because I don't have any scientific studies to back it up, but I dare to give my opinion. My observation got me thinking: why was childhood in Korea so quiet, orderly and impeccable? They ate with their chopsticks perfectly, without making much noise, and their dynamics seemed to unfold with a calmness that I could not understand.
It all became more evident when, on one occasion, my little boy wanted to play in the bathroom with the cups that throw water to clean the private parts. It may sound modern, but in that public restroom I found it disgusting. I put limits on my son, which seemed to be an encouragement to extreme dissatisfaction. I was pressed for time because we had to catch a shuttle that would take us somewhere else. I was trying to apply a positive explanation, being as even-tempered, patient and loving as possible.
Between jet lag, cultural differences and how chaotic travel with small children can be, I was exhausted. There were several women, probably Korean, in the bathroom who only looked at me and my toddler. Next to them were perfectly groomed little girls, sweetly obeying their mothers. I felt so wild compared to them.
I remember when I said to my son, "Hasta aquí!" and carried him away from his little game that caused me a mixture of worry and nausea. My little boy, exhausted from jet lag and accumulated fatigue, began to scream and shake in my arms. At that moment, a Korean woman looked at us with a startled look on her face and gave a startled cry. I quickly got out of there, and at the hotel reception, many people were looking at us. I was afraid they would think I was doing something wrong or call the authorities. I felt completely lost and unable to exercise positive parenting.
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