Yoori No!

A mystery still unsolved

When I was in my early teens, my oldest aunt (komo = the Korean word for your aunt who is your dad’s sister) came to stay with us for a few months. I have written about how she made me spam and tteok in the past. She was my dad’s oldest sister. The oldest of 6 with my dad being the youngest. The age gap was big enough for her to have a son who was only a few years younger than my dad. When my grandmother died young, my komo helped bring up my dad along her own son, my oldest cousin. My komo is the closest to the grandmother I never had. What I loved about my aunt was her confidence. She was entirely sure in who she was and what she wanted to do and didn’t give two cents about what others thought. Her husband died early on and she had brought up 4 children by herself. She probably knew she was capable of anything and didn’t see any reason to hide it.

One summer, my aunt came to stay with us in Germany for a few months. Actually, thinking about it, she is in fact the only one of my dad’s siblings who came to visit us in Germany ever. I can’t recall how many months she stayed with us. I can’t even recall where exactly she stayed in our home. We had a 3 bedroom home. Maybe my sister and I were sharing rooms during that time.

While she stayed with us, we made a lot of fun memories. We took a lot of day trips and over summer break we went to Norway for a few weeks going out fishing in the fjord, driving into the woods to see moose, stopping in Oslo on the drive home.

But it’s the small moments that I remember most. On lazy slow afternoons, komo would teach me how to play the hwato card game on a blanket. The key is to really slam down those cards when you got a matching pair and really mean it.

For the longest time, the the plot next to our house was empty. It was overgrown with wild weeds, and us neighborhood kids loved to climb up and down the small trees. Much to my embarrassment my aunt had found young dandelion leaves on that plot and went out as a mostly daily practice, pairing knife and plastic bowl in hand, to squat down in the grass and harvest dandelion leaves. (Funny side note, the German word for dandelion is “Löwenzahn” which literally translates into lion’s tooth!)

Now this was in the early 90s and that was well before you could buy dandelion greens at Whole Foods. Nobody had even heard of it as being a health food, let alone it being edible at all! And here goes my aunt, plucking weeds in the empty plot like she is harvesting a farm for all neighbors to see! 😂 As embarrassed as I was, those young dandelion leaves were pretty darn delicious with a light gochujang vinegar dressing! I still think of her every time I am at Whole Foods and see dandelion greens stocked up right next to the kale and lettuce and silently giggle to myself. She would get a kick out of this.

Another time, we were out of the house when komo decided to stay home. When we got back, she cracked up laughing repeating ‘Yoori no, Yoori no!’ Turns out somebody had rang the phone, mind you that was the landline to the house. Pre personal mobile phones. Why she decided to pick up the phone when she doesn’t speak any German or English? I am not sure. Because that’s the kind of woman she was. Just going with the flow and confident that she will manage whatever situation. And well, she did. Somebody rang the line, she didn’t understand what they were saying but picked up my name. So she just let them know that I wasn’t home but repeating: ‘Yoori no! Yoori no!’ and subsequently hanging up. Mission accomplished!

To the day, I have absolutely no idea who called. Just the thought of this makes me laugh. Somebody rang the line, ended up with blabber in a language they didn’t understand followed by ‘Yoori no, Yoori no!’ and the flatline tone of somebody hanging up on you. Presumably it was a friend who wanted to speak to me. I had asked around though and nobody claimed this bizarre phone conversation.

It may have been a short few months but it was a fun time living daily life with my komo. Just what I imagine growing up with a grandma would feel like.

For the longest time I have mourned not having had a big family growing up. We were a small satellite family - my sister, my parents and me. Keeping contact with family in Korea, especially before the time of personal smart phones, was difficult baring in mind not only time difference but a big gap in cultural understanding as well.

My dad’s mother passed long before my sister and I were born, and my mom’s dad passed away early enough that I don’t have any memories of him. But I do remember my mom’s mom from the occasional visits and my dad’s dad who honestly mostly just really scared me with his calm cold (something I assume was maybe just reserved) demeanor and steel blue eyes. His portrait hung up in our dining room for a long time and even through the photograph he had a piercing stare.

But when I look beyond the traditional definition, I can see that there has been and is a lot of family in my life. My parents’ friends who were there for birthdays and Holidays. The friends I have made along the way who have turned into family and whom I call first to share any news. Dan’s family with whom I can now share traditions around the Holidays. And my aunt who came to Germany to be like my grandmother for a few months and left me with beautiful memories that make me giggle even today.

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