The Thieves (2013)
Last Saturday,
my eldest daughter Soyoung and my granddaughter Sadie
packed up and headed back to their place.
After spending about ten days at our house post-hospital,
they left in a hurry—as if there was a fire to put out at home.
The original plan was for them to stay for a month,
to rest and recover from childbirth.
But nope.
They hit the eject button and bailed early.
Apparently, Soyoung found her mom’s
overflowing love and attention (aka surveillance)
a bit overwhelming.
Can’t blame her, really.
Since going off to college, Soyoung hadn’t spent much time living with us.
Even after graduating, despite not exactly raking in the big bucks,
she insisted on living on her own and later got married.
She never did the whole “living with in-laws” or “back to mom and dad’s” thing.
So now, being back with us—with a newborn in tow—
was probably more than a little suffocating for her.
“Seaweed soup is good for recovery—eat up.”
“I hate seaweed soup.”
“I made ginseng chicken soup for you!”
“Still nope.”
My wife, bless her soul, was doing her best.
But when our daughter rejected every lovingly prepared dish,
my wife was clearly hurt.
Me? I’m under sacred obligation to eat everything my wife gives me—
and to do so with gratitude and reverence.
But apparently, an independent adult daughter
has the right to say no. What a concept.
It reminded me of army food.
No matter how cold, bland, or salty it was,
we’d eat it with a loud and proud,
“Thank you, sir! A fine meal, sir!”
So imagine my astonishment
as I watched my daughter rebel against her mother’s cooking.
I was in awe.
It was like watching the Berlin Wall crumble in real time.
Eventually, the two women brokered a peace treaty:
my wife would cook only what the daughter wanted,
and the stay would officially end last Saturday.
I couldn’t help but feel both proud and envious.
My daughter—negotiating with the woman I only bow to?
Wow.
So it is possible to say no to your mother…
Of course, I only thought it.
Didn’t dare say or try anything myself.
Greatness, after all, lies in action, not just thought.
In that sense—our daughter is truly great.
The next day, my wife, ever the generous soul,
went out and bought enough groceries to feed a battalion.
A whole box of oranges,
heaps of apples and pears,
and plump, juicy grapes.
As a fruit lover, I felt rich with anticipation.
But when I came home Saturday evening…
the house felt empty.
Too quiet.
Too big.
Even the walls seemed to sigh.
The space where Soyoung and Sadie had been
looked like an abandoned playground.
Sadie’s tiny shadow still seemed to dance in the hallway.
I felt a lump in my throat.
But what could I do?
They were already gone.
You can't hold onto people with hugs forever.
So I told myself to let it go and focused, as always, on dinner.
After the meal, craving a refreshing orange,
I opened the fridge.
A gust of cold air blew out.
Sure, fridges are supposed to be cold.
But that night,
that icy breeze cut through me like betrayal.
The once overflowing fridge now looked like a beach at low tide.
“Hon, where are the oranges?”
“And the apples?”
“Soyoung took them all.”
Thieves.
Those fruit-smuggling, snack-swindling, joy-snatching thieves.
My innocent dream of a sweet post-dinner orange—
stolen without mercy by my very own daughter.
Sure, I can buy more oranges.
But what about my heart—
which Sadie, that adorable little bandit,
ran off with?
Maybe tomorrow,
I’ll go hunt down my two favorite thieves.
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