The Ballad of Jung-woon Shin

Filed under:biographical,writing,Rob Andrews

"Wob! Teach me some slang!" Jung-woon would ask me this during lunch at the college. I'd hover around her, and the rest of the Koreans in between classes, stealing noodles, rice or meat from her. She wanted me to earn my keep. And so I would, poisoning her English with slang and profanities.
"Shit."
"Sheet."
"No, shit. Euh-tuh."
"Sheeet!"
We'd practice during the lucnh break, poluting the air with half assed curses. Her class mates, younger and male would chip in with their versions. It was like being in the middle of dueling bands, hearing Guitar Wolf's version of "Straight Outta Compton" followed by Chibo Mattos. A car crash of language.
"Sheet!"
"Okay, never mind. Lets try something else" Eventually, she managed to get her paws on a book of Engish slang. She'd pass me in the hall, full of snark and confidence.
"Wob! How's it going!"
"Fine. Thanks"
"You are a turkey! I will see you later, stinker!" She was a throwback to blowdried hair and leisure suits. I tried to correct her, but gave up. She recycled 70's slang like pop cans. I'd bust her balls about it, but she never caught on. It's hard to handle the subtleties of the English language.

Jung-woon was the oldest of the Korean students at the college. My first meeting with her never stuck out in my mind like the first time that I met Miwako or Booyan. She was the wallpaper of the Korean set. Background. Unintrusive. our paths intersected because he had a friend in common, Jung. Jung was a supposedly straight Korean man who enjoyed drinking, but spent most of his time telling us which men he found handsome. He'd often put his arm around the shoulder of my good Federico Federico and I would joke afterwards that Jung probably had the hots for him. Jung would invite Jung-woon to see movies with us during the early summer and eventually started to bring her to the house parties during the summer. The Korean guys gave her a hard time about her age. Every time that we went to a party, the Korean men would bug her not being married, asking if she was looking for a man. She'd dismiss it with her hiccup laugh, denying it. She was an independent woman. Strong. Who needed a man in this day and age? It became sort of a creed at the parties during the summer. The men would bust on her about not having a boyfriend and she, in turn would tell them that she was happy. She didn't suffer fools gladly.

We got to know each other better as the summer went on. I found her enigmatic and aloof. Not very serious for someone of her age. I'd joke with her all the time, calling her "grandma" or old lady. She'd laugh it off. I found it hard to take her seriously.

Near the end of the summer, there was a lot of parties for the international who were leaving. One such party was for three students. One of them was Jung, who was going to move to Seatle to live with his extended family, another one was a Japanese girl called Now, a mousey Japanese girl that never shaved her legs, and lastly, Natalia, a Columbian girl who was a friend of Federico's. Of the three, I knew Natalia the least. The party was at Joe's apartment, a Korean who had a bad reputation with lots of the international students for being an asshole. I went with my friend, Stephen, a banana who didn't like to drink. He's sit in the room and drink water, occationallly shuttling people home when they got too drunk or tired. I also invited a white girl I knew, Megan. She had a hardon for Jung, and wanted to know him better. Jung didn't care for her that much, finding her loud and fat, but didn't mind having her there. She didn't come until later that evening. The party was slow going and I amused the Japanese girls with card tricks until the beer started to flow. I spent my time with the Koreans since my buddy Anson had decided to go to AvP, chatting it up with his room mate Tim, Kyoung and Jung-woon. The beer loosened us up and Jung-woon began to open up. She told us that she was lonely, and was envious of Booyan who had a boyfriend. She needled me for most of the evening about introducing me to good looking white men. I told her that all the white guys that I knew had boyfriends, with the exception of me. She said that she'd pass on me, and disapeared. I was told later that she went on a walk to clear her head. I met her later that evening, but she kept on dodging the question about she being lonely. The conversation eventually degenerated, like it always does, into a analysis of oral sex and how it could do her some good. She drank more that evening and disapeared for good, wobbling home on her bike.

Here's another snapshot of her, this one, on the first page of the scrapbook of my brain. We were at Tim's birthday part, the last one that he'd have in Fort St. John before he left to Korea. He invited all the Koreans there, so naturally, Jung-woon was there. She was unnaturally sedate that evening, not speaking that much, never joking. It was like another actress was playing her in a movie. The men, like usual, had been bugging her about single, saying that she went to the part to meet men again. She dimissed it with her patented laugh. Her eyes told another story. All throughout the evening you could watch as they tracked her friend Booyan with her boyfriend, a baby faced white guy who spoke in too perfect English. He pronounced each word with the skill of surgeon. I wasn't surprised to find out that he was the vice president of the city's Toastmasters. Jung-woon didn't say that much that evening. I walked her home that evening, the only time that I did that, following her on her bike before I crossed through a farmer's field to my cabin. I asked her if she was feeling lonely, but she denied it. We went our ways, her hollow eyes filling my dreams that evening. I never asked her if she felt lonely after that night.