LINK: discretion 1부 (part 1)
TW: physical abuse, abuse, domestic violence
I learned about discretion and how to mind my own business at an early age.
When I was four years old, I was working on math homework that my dad expected me to complete every night. This wasn’t assigned by school, but these were pages of math equations that he had written on loose leaf paper for me to finish before I went to sleep. It would be a travesty to my parents if I didn’t excel in mathematics, which further perpetuated the stereotype that Asians were good in math. It was like Kumon on steroids. I was doing multiplication before I entered the second grade.
Anyway, I digress. It was nearing 2000, when the doorbell rang. I ran down the stairs to open the door. Any distraction from the annoying math assignment was a blessing for me. As I jerked the opened the door, I saw my mom’s church friend with a black eye and bruise on her left cheek. Her lip was bleeding and when she tried to talk to me, all I could do was focus on her bloody mouth and teeth. She was crying hysterically and I didn’t know what to do. I panicked and yelled for my parents to quickly come to the door in Korean. When they came downstairs, they rushed her into the house.
I went back upstairs to finishing up my math “homework” while they sat around the dining room table speaking in Korean. Sometimes, I think my parents forgot how young I was and that I could understand what they were saying.
Her husband had assaulted her again and this time, she didn’t know where to go so she decided to come to our house. I felt badly for her and the dire situation she was in. She said she couldn’t divorce him because of her children.
Soon after, her husband came to the house looking for her. He was in a nasty foul mood. I had never seen him like this before. When he came upstairs to talk to his wife at the kitchen table, I asked him in Korean, “Why did you hit her?” He whipped his head around so fast and screamed at me. In Korean, he told me that I should not be asking those questions to an adult, that I was a child and should not speak until spoken to, and that I needed to leave the room. My parents did not come to my defense.
I was so taken aback because no one has ever yelled at me in such a fashion aside from my parents. I ran into my room crying, flew onto my bed, and hid under the covers. He was a scary and a bad man. I eventually fell asleep but it was a fitful sleep.
I never did finish my homework that night. I also never felt comfortable around him again after that incident, no matter how many times we went over to their house or saw one another at church… it wasn’t the same after that.
It also wasn’t the last time she came to our home after being physically abused by her husband…
Leave a Reply