Yeo Eun Ki/Tuesday 1pm/Chapter 5 final draft

There are many different kinds of love in our world. There is the love between a man and a woman, passionate and exciting. We often say we love our friends, and those important in our lives. And certainly there is the deep love we have for our country or humanity. And at one time or another, all of us claim to "love" trivial things like cupcakes or puppies. But, more importantly, there is the love we have for our family members. And even within that love, I always like to think there is a separate category for a mother's love. A mother can be the strongest person in the world for her family. With strength, resilience, and selflessness that cannot be compared to anyone else in the world, a mother's love knows no bounds. And because of this incredible devotion, mothers are willing to make sacrifices to give their children everything and anything.
  By my grandmother's bedside there was a packet of medicine and some tangerines. She coughed a little and sat up in bed. "This interview is for what?" she asked me again. There was still sleep in her eyes and confusion on her face. "My school, grandma. I'm writing about you," I smiled brightly. "I want to talk about a mother's love. And you're the strongest mother I know." To reassure her, I beamed and patted her hand. My mom, who had come with me, reached over and peeled the tangerines and handed them to us. So with bursts of sweet juiciness of tangerines in my mouth I pressed record and started with question one.
  To my relief, my grandmother actually liked talking about her life. "Tell me about getting married to grandpa," I said. "You married young, didn't you?" My grandmother nodded and almost immediately launched into her story. "I was only twenty-three." My grandmother was born in the countryside of the South Chungcheong province. Like most families living in Korea at that time, she grew up hungry. By her parent's orders, she moved to Seoul to marry my grandpa. They had met only once prior to their marriage, and my grandmother admits to being unimpressed by him.
  True to her first impression, my grandpa proved to be a poor father and husband to his family. "It wasn't because he didn't want to," my mom, who had been listening to our interview, interrupted, "It was because he didn't know how. Most men of that time didn't. Your grandpa thankfully never raised his hand against any of us. He was just disinterested in our family." My grandmother learned from the very beginning of their marriage to scrimp and pinch with the meager earnings my grandpa brought home. "Most days, there wasn't enough rice so I mixed it with flour and make porridge for myself and the children." She paused. "Your grandpa always had a bowl of rice to eat. But not us. Sometimes I was so hungry and tired I wanted to sit down and cry but had no strength to." She went on to tell me how my grandpa never came home early and would leave my grandmother to take care of the children. "I did everything. From handling the money to making sure there was something on the table for them to eat. I wanted my children to never grow hungry."
  The cheerful mood at the start of the interview slowly faded to a somber atmosphere. The abrupt silence that filled the room grew stifling. The tangerine I had been eating lay abandoned on a plate. I shifted uncomfortably as my grandma swiped quickly at her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. Tentatively, I asked, "But what made you go on? Wasn't it difficult? Did-" I hesitated. "Did you want to give up?" My grandma looked straight at me and said, "I thought about leaving for my hometown. Just abandoning everything and leave." When I asked her why she didn't, she shook her head while rubbing her knees. "I couldn't just go back home. My parents would never allow it." My grandmother sighed again and looked regretful. "So I stayed in Seoul with my children. Your mom and aunt and uncle are the only reason I stayed sane and alive. I worked hard to bring my children out of poverty." My grandmother then proceeded to tell me how she would buy a very cheap house, mend it, and sell it at a better profit. She laughed as I exclaimed at her accomplishments. The bright gleam was back in her eyes as she said with satisfaction, "By the time your uncle came along, I had sold four houses. And I didn't even spend half of the money I earned. I kept the cash under the wardrobe and saved and saved. Even your grandpa didn't know about the money." My grandmother bought a nice house of her own before my mom was born. By then the family was much better off than it had been when she had first gotten married. "But the hard life changed me," she said simply. When I asked her to elaborate, she explained, "I used to be very docile and shy. I didn't dare stand up to anyone. And I always kept to myself." But the struggle to escape poverty had my grandmother getting to reluctant arguments with men twice her size over the cost of rice, throwing away her already tattered pride to ask her relatives for money, and roughening her gentle hands to work in the bitter cold or the stifling heat. The more she talked, the more animated my grandmother grew. I looked down at my list of questions and saw that she'd answered half of them without me even asking her.
  Finally I asked her, "Do you regret your sacrifice for your children?" My mom was very quiet beside me. My grandma's eyes shined with unshed tears. "Never. Not a single one." My eyes followed her gaze and saw her hands, rough and wrinkled and no doubt tough from the decades of hard work. "I have this very nice house. Your mom, your aunt, and your uncle have all graduated from universities. All of them are happily married and well off. And I even have you, and all my other grandchildren." She reached over and took my hand, rubbing it to warm them. She smiled at me and her eyes crinkled into crescent moons.  
  After the interview was over, I got up and straighten my clothes. And before I left my grandmother's bedroom, I walked over to her dresser. In front of the large mirror, there were several photographs. I recognized my own picture, taken when I was an infant. Below mine is my cousin's. She still has the same smile. My uncle's graduation picture is kept special in a glass frame. My eyes lingered on the last photograph; the picture of my grandmother in her late 60s, looking dignified into the camera. She is looking straight into the camera, a small smile gracing her lips. One would never be able to tell the coarseness of her hands by the way she folds them so daintily in her lap. "It gives you a different perspective of your grandmother, doesn't it?" my mom commented from behind me. I nodded. From the moment we are born, our mothers make it their first priority to ensure our safety and happiness sometimes at the cost of their own. These sacrifices are not easy for anyone to make because you are doing something for someone else. You are essentially giving a gift that cannot be measured by money. But mothers can do it. Mothers can and are willing to do it for their family. And perhaps this is why for so many of us the word "mom" tugs at our heartstrings.