Living Life in the Fat Lane

Chapter 5: Kimchi Fried Rice

Ding dong. As Jee Young’s doorbell delivers the commonest of doorbell chimes, my stomach growls as a response to the heavenly aroma coming from the kitchen window. Oh, dinner will be divine, I can tell.

“Kaitlin, are you all right? You’re already foaming at the mouth. Wait till we get to the kitchen,” says Lanie, the Ellen Degeneres-wannabe.

“Oh so you’re Ms. Comedienne now, huh? You think you’re funny? Wait till I tell Jee Young about your clairvoyant episode. Close your eyes and guess which finger I’m holding up.” Jee Young opens the door and finds us laughing our tonsils out.

“Hey guys, what’s so funny?” she asks.

“Oh nothing, just being silly,” I say. We make the customary beso beso and small talk about our day. She doesn’t have to show us to the kitchen because our noses know exactly where it is. We ask her if she needs help, which of course she doesn’t, being the ever-perfect hostess that her mother brought her up to be.

For someone who hates convention, Jee Young is the only one among my single friends who owns a whole set of heirloom-worthy silverware. She purchased it after graduation as a reward for all her hard work in the four years that she spent at the university as an HRM student. It’s not that she has better taste; she just has more money. Except for my flight attendant friend Sherwin, all my single friends are as poor as a mouse on welfare. Jee Young is more the exception than the rule. She’s in her mid-twenties, single and surprisingly not living on coffee and Marlboro Lights. She has good taste, a hefty bank account and is not dependent on mom and dad. She’s as fit as the fittest water buffalo working my Cousin Nelson’s – ahem - “tobacco” fields; and she cooks for a living. She couldn’t ask for anything more, but then she could. And she does.

Living a life of singledom all these eight years in a foreign country could be a little tiresome to say the least. She’s been longing for romance much like me, but romance has been elusive, especially since she’s been torn between fulfilling her duties as a Korean daughter, who is only supposed to marry a Korean man, and being the free spirit that she has always been, unwilling to be trapped inside a box weighed down by culture and tradition.

            As she serves us each dish, it becomes apparent that Jee Young is bothered by a lingering thought. Her usual cheerful demeanor is replaced by a more somber one. She spills the cold tea for the second time, as she pours it in my glass. Lanie, being the voice of reason, and the more sensitive of us two, asks Jee Young what it is that seems to be bothering her. Jee Young takes one last scoop of fried rice and puts it on my plate. She sets the bowl in the middle of the round dining table, takes a deep breath, pauses, and tells us about the single life deadline her father has given her.

         Her parents have already chosen a suitable man to be her betrothed. That would mean packing her bags and leaving the Philippines altogether. Desperate at the thought of leaving the life she’s built for herself here, Jee Young tries hard to hold back the tears. She told her parents that she is in no way marrying some guy they have chosen for her; some guy who she hardly knows, and who could be a serial killer had the concept of serial killing been Asian. How sure are they that he’s the right one for her and that he wouldn’t turn out to be the biggest disappointment of her life? No matchmaker alive or dead could ever guarantee a match made in heaven filled with nuptial bliss and marital ecstasy. Hell, I know a guy who knows a guy who is online buddies with someone whose parents had been together for thirty five years before they headed off to Splitsville. You never can tell who will last these days. Even when getting your marriage annulled is next to impossible, more and more couples are opting to live separate lives, promising to take care of the legalities later. But later gradually becomes never, and so when they’re ready to take the Love Train once again, they are left with no other option but to live with their significant others sans the blessing of the Church. Such are the stories of “second-chancers.” They are the ones whose first attempt at a happily-ever-after suffered a serious case of failure to launch. My college friends are actually divided into three subgroups - Married, Separated and Never Say Die (that’s the spirit!).

Bothered at the thought that someone as young as Jee Young is being compelled to settle down against her will, I take a spoonful of the kimchi fried rice which has been teasing me ever since we got here.

“Why do you have to get married now? Aren’t you a bit too young?” I ask.

“Remember, Ate, I may be twenty-five to you, but I am already twenty-seven in Korea.”

“Yeah, but your body knows you’re twenty-five. If your parents’ concern is that they might not have grandchildren, then you can explain to them…”

“I don’t think that’s their main concern, Kaitlin,” says Lanie.

Jee Young gets up and walks over to the fridge to get a pitcher of cold water. She closes the fridge door and pauses, pitcher in hand.

“They’re so scared that I will bring home a Filipino boyfriend, that’s why they’re shoving this guy on my face,” says Jee Young scornfully.

She absentmindedly pours water in my glass, not noticing that it is still half-filled with tea.

“Have you seen pictures of him? What does he do?” asks Lanie, taking the pitcher from Jee Young.

“No. My mom hasn’t told me that much about him; only that he was educated in the States.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing. I know you’re not very traditional,” I say as a consolation.

There should only be one level of commitment among young people - that is the I’m Digging on You Right Now Baby level. They have the right to be the center of the universe, with everything revolving around them, and when they get to be my age, it’s their turn to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders; to worry about biological clocks, the environment, and feeding the hungry. But now, it would be a crime against humanity to rob them of their right to lead irresponsible, meaningless, inconsequential lives because otherwise, they’re going to end up as the youngest fifty year olds, trying so desperately to sow wild oats. Have you seen a fifty-year-old woman in skinny jeans head-banging to the tune of (You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party)? It ain’t pretty. So if parents worldwide would rather see their children happily settled down, they should try to avoid shoving marriage down their throats. Wait for the reality to sink in. Their personal light bulbs will turn on in no time. But how do you fight tradition?

            The night ends with hugs, kisses and comforting words. Jee Young squeezes Lanie’s hand and then mine.

“Thank you, Ates,” she says. “I needed that.”

Her story gets me to thinking if my parents also wish they could marry me off to someone…anyone. But who would want to marry me? Had I been a Jane Austen character, I would be one of those undesirable women with no inheritance, and therefore, no prospects.

         The idea of marriage begins to set in as Malou’s wedding draws near. In two days we fly off to Boracay where she and her mega-rich fiancé are tying the knot. Oh my God! The wedding is in two days! And I still have nothing to wear!