“Well, you are an extension of your father.” And she’s rambling again. Does she ramble this way because she is a pastor? “Your father’s line is tainted. They are all immoral and unethical people. When I looked into the family history, your paternal great-grandfather, grandfather, uncles, they all turned out to have had multiple mistresses and concubines. That blood is in you, and I wanted to sever all connection with your father. I didn’t even take his dirty alimony.” Yes, your hands are clean, I get it. I’m getting sleepy and nod half-heartedly and chime in here and there. Instead of laying out this convoluted story, I wish she’d just reach out and hold me.

My mother proudly shares the story of her bountiful and blessed new life, going to the seminary college as a nontraditional older student, becoming a youth pastor at the church, oh how miraculous it is to be alive, how blessed she is to be able to help other impoverished seminary students. She tells me that I have the blessing of being healthy, I didn’t end up a no-good screw-up or a cripple, all thanks to God, as He guarded me as the apple of His eye. You don’t even know me, Mother. She adds that I need to continue pushing on, living with father, studying hard. I must endure it all until I can move out.

“But, don’t you regret anything? Shouldn’t you tell me, at least, you’re sorry to have left me? I feel like you are rationalizing your choices by using God.”

“Yeoul, I didn’t have a choice. Don’t you get it? If I didn’t leave your father, I would’ve gone mad or killed myself … You still don’t get it? I see. You are just like him and his sister. You refuse to listen, insist on your point, and you even smile like them, that slimy smile. You are just like everyone else in his family, uneducated and badly mannered, barging into my place unannounced like this! Perhaps we should talk some other time. We can’t communicate because we’ve lived away from each other for too long. You need to leave now. I’m busy today. I need to do the church members’ house visits. Thank you for coming. Watch your step on the way down the hill. It’s steep.” To me, she is acting like an interviewee whose feelings are hurt by my questions.

“Okay, I’ll leave. Should I come back to see you some other time, or should I say my goodbyes?”