My parents have been visiting for about two weeks en route to Korea. They are moving— permanently— back to Korea, a decision that I still am processing emotionally.
Anyway. David once said I could write a book about my father because he is just…such a character. We really love and respect abba but also make fun of the way he dresses (that classic Korean ahjeossi high-waist pants cinched with a black leather belt) and talks (he can dive into an hour-long soliloquy with lots of earnest hand motions) and eats (chews like a cow; if he’s chewing a gum you could hear him a mile away).
We make fun all out of adoration, of course. I know some people find my abba intimidating and severe because he’s a pastor who’s serious and bold about his faith. But there’s so many more sides to him that’s amusing, endearing, and fun, if not exasperating.
The most exasperating yet entertaining part about abba is his own dad health logic. He writes his own health book and lives earnestly by it.
For example. Abba developed his own workout that he claims can give him twice the benefits of an hour’s traditional workout session in 5 minutes. What he does is lean against the wall with a finger or an elbow, and then he tenses up the rest of it his body to the point of trembling, the way an overweight ballerina might tremble with the exertion of trying to hold a pose on one tippy toe. He calls it “떨공,” or “trembling exercise.”
This trembling exercise works out every fiber of muscles in his entire body, he claims. “It’s better than an hour on the…the…” He doesn’t know the word for “elliptical,” so he acted it out by vigorously pumping his arms back and forth.
How does he know that trembling exercise is superior?
“Oh,” he exclaims, gesturing down the length of his core, as though this fine specimen of a body should be evidence enough, “Oh, I know.” God gave him the wisdom for this efficient technique, because He knows my father doesn’t have the time for long exercise regimens.
Never mind that he’s got a boomer belly; that’s just testament of God’s grace— the Lord has never let him starve, and besides, that belly is also a sign of God’s wisdom— it serves as a cushiony ledge on which his grandbabies can sit.
Even with concrete numerical data, my father says otherwise. About a year ago we were in Korea, at a clinic because David was not feeling well. There’s a free blood pressure measuring machine by the waiting area, so abba decided to check his blood pressure. I knew something was up when he tried to shove the piece of paper with his results into the pockets of his high-waist pants, like a kid smuggling candy in his shorts. I sneaked up on him and pickpocketed the result, which read: 185.
“Isn’t that really high?” I yelped.
“Oh no,” abba assured me. “At my age, blood pressure should be a bit high.” According to him, it would be unhealthy to have blood pressure within the “normal” range at his age. Besides, he can always eat more garlic and onion to remedy it.
Speaking of onions and garlic. Have you ever tried abba’s onion wine?
I have. So has David. He almost choked.
Onion wine (except abba calls it “onion’s wine”) is abba’s homemade recipe for a healthful life: He chops up raw onions, drops them into a big-ass mason jar, then glugs cheap Cabernet from Costco over the onions and lets them steep for a few days. The finished product is onion-flavored wine, every sip more pungent and briney than the one before, and if you fancy, you can crunch on a side of red-dyed winey onion with each onion-y sip, like one would nibble on olives with their martini.
It tastes vile to me, but abba loves it. I don’t know how omma sleeps next to him after he drinks a glass of that; he’s got to be releasing tons of onion fumes.
Another example: Abba loves Shin ramen.
Shin ramen has become a global phenomenon since hallyu, showing up by the boxes in Mexican supermarkets and Japanese convenience stores and Amazon and Costco. Kimchi has also become a global phenomenon, but mostly as a probiotic health superfood that white people discovered and veganfied to great profits. Shin ramen is no health food. It’s deep-fried dried noodles with a packet of unpronounceable addictives and preservatives.
While my parents are here in LA, the first stop they made to the grocery store (Aldi’s), my father tagged along to make sure to drop an armful of Shin ramen into the shopping basket.
I told abba not to eat too much instant ramen. “How many times a week do you eat Shin ramen?” I asked.
“Only about twice a week,” abba said.
Omma overheard and let out a laugh of incredulity. “Twice a week? Ha! Try five times a week!”
“Abba!” I scolded.
“Don’t worry,” abba said. “I put in tons of onions in my ramen.”
Apparently onion not only makes a glass of red wine even more salubrious, it also cancels out the health negatives of all the chemicals in instant ramen. Who knew onion has such magical powers? Why don’t more people drink onion smoothies instead of the inferior green kale smoothies? Why is there no cookies made from dehydrated onion flour that go viral on TikTok? Why hasn’t Erewhon marketed $35 liters of organic onion water in recycled glassware? If abba were a more business-minded man rather than the Lord’s humble servant, he could make a fortune off his onion health theory.
But it’s too late. Abba is slowing down. He’s almost 70. After weeks of packing up everything in their house, throwing things away, and figuring out next steps in Korea, he is physically and mentally wiped out. He arrived in LA exhausted and hasn’t been given much time to fully rest, what with a whiny toddler and a shrieking baby to help look after.
One Sunday, he had leftover pepperoni pizza for breakfast, a huge pita sandwich with harissa sauce for lunch, and then pork belly for dinner. My mother has been on a health kick since she found out she is prediabetic, and since then, she’s been strictly controlling the menu: no more fried food, very little red meat, no more seasoning. As a result, abba told me mournfully, “Our meals have gotten weird.”
So while here in LA, away from omma’s health-conscious kitchen, he took full advantage of the sudden access to flavorful foods, and ate to his heart’s content.
The next day, his body squeaked in protest. He had a bellyache and felt dizzy, lethargic. He had no onion wine to delete the greasy pepperoni, the slabs of butter, and the glutinous pork fat, and hence, he suffered. This is quite a shock to all of us, because abba almost never gets sick.
Abba decided to take it easy that day. He dutifully ate a few spoonfuls of the oatmeal (with chia seeds) that omma made him. That evening, he only ate half of the bulgogi that he would normally eat, though I did catch him slurping up more of the sauce when no one was paying attention.
The next morning, he woke up at 6:30 am after a full 10 hours sleep, a luxury he hasn’t been able to enjoy in years. He felt much better! Hurrah!
So what did he do? He made Shin ramen for breakfast, waking omma up with the fumes of spicy MSG.
When I found out, I yelled at him. “You said you weren’t feeling well! Why are you eating Shin ramen for breakfast??”
He shook his head sagely. “Don’t you know? Eating what you love is healing.”
Another one of his dad health logic: Something about how when you eat something delicious to you, you produce tons of saliva, which helps properly digest your food, which then becomes the critical nutrients and minerals that your body readily absorbs, because it is in a state of joy and thankfulness in the Lord. If I’m honest, it kind of makes sense.
Omma nags at him like I do. She lectures him about all the YouTube videos she’s watched, which inform her not to eat more than an egg a day and to avoid all artificial sweeteners.
Abba doesn’t dismiss them. He’s not against science, he says, but neither does he think health obsession is all that healthy. The anxiety you have over health and nutrition is more harmful than the state of bliss you have when enjoying your favorite foods, he preaches.
“So let’s examine the evidence,” he concluded during a particular debate with my mother: “You eat steamed veggies and pasture-raised egg and chia seeds. I eat ramen. Who between us is healthier?”
“I had nothing left to say,” omma told me.
I don’t know what it is, whether it’s the onion wine or his radical faith in God, but something’s working. My abba, despite slowing down in his older age, is still healthy. And even though he did feel slightly ill for a day, he recovered as swiftly as a brawny teenager in the prime of youth.
Onion wine, anyone?
Writing for Sophia 