Jeong Eun-seo
Not long ago, I gave my younger sister a call to wish her a happy birthday—it had been a while since we last spoke. She had just returned from overseas and seemed to be busy readjusting to life and work in Korea. When I asked if she’d had seaweed soup for her birthday, she shared a funny little story. Although she lives far from home, our youngest sibling told her that Mom had made seaweed soup that morning, saying, “It’s my second daughter’s birthday today.”
Now that I think about it, even when I forget my own birthday, Mom is always the first to remember. On my birthday, she and my youngest sibling always start their morning with seaweed soup.
The image of Mom cooking seaweed soup early in the morning, missing her daughters scattered across different parts of the world, brought a smile to my face and a lump to my throat.
Even though she bears greater burdens and endures more hardships, Mom rarely allows herself a moment of rest—her thoughts always with her daughters far from home. Even when she visits somewhere beautiful or enjoys a good meal, her children are never far from her mind. No matter how many years pass or how old I become, I don’t think I’ll ever truly grasp the depth of my mother’s love.