"I only gave you extra because the rolls had split open."
"Oh, please, don't mention it!"
"The gimbap had split, that's all — so I slipped in a piece or two more."
—
This happened long ago.
On winter dawns when the cold came driving down hard, I used to buy two rolls of gimbap from a truck by the roadside. That was my breakfast.
There were many women selling gimbap along that road, but I always went to the same one. Her gimbap seemed to come filled with warmth.
That morning was like any other. I could sense the weariness behind her eyes, and yet she held out the gimbap with her soft, quiet smile.
But this time something was different. Her gimbap carried more love in it than ever before — for in the plastic bag lay an extra piece or two.
That day I happened to have a little time to spare. I got out of the car to greet her, meaning to pay her something more. And only then did I truly see her: she limped heavily on one leg, crippled by childhood polio.
With a bashful smile she offered a single remark — "Some of the rolls split open, so I couldn't sell them separately. That's the only reason I put them in" — and she flatly refused the money.
From that day on, an ache settled in my chest. Watching this woman whose body would not obey her freely, I found myself thinking again about the fighting spirit of a life, about human strength. To me she seemed nothing less than an angel.
A few days later, it was the day school let out for winter vacation, so I had some time on my hands. I stepped out of the car, thinking I would have a cup of instant coffee at the truck next to hers, and then, as always, walked over to her truck to buy my gimbap.
She was nowhere in sight. Looking closer, I saw she was busy with something inside the cab.
A little girl, three or four years old, sat huddled in the chill air of the truck. The day was bitterly cold, and the woman was bundling the child up in a quilted wrap. She was an utterly adorable little daughter.
And then it struck me. Looking at the child more closely, I saw that she had Down syndrome. Her small face was frozen red, her eyes barely half open.
While the woman was busy packing the gimbap, I quietly slipped a ten-thousand-won bill into the child's hand, out of her mother's sight.
From then on, my thoughts kept returning to that woman. Winter vacation began, and for a long while I could not bring myself to pass that way.
When the vacation ended, I stopped by again. She was no longer there.
I cannot forget her. Whatever hardship she was carrying, she always wore that warm smile and shared her love with everyone around her. Her warm heart melted the winter cold and planted embers of hope in people's hearts.
She truly was an angel. That is why I have never been able to forget her.
The light called hope burns brightest in the darkest places. Her life was just such a light — radiating hope even from inside a dark tunnel.
Her story taught me what a hard-pressed life can mean, and because of her I found the courage to endure such a life and to overcome it. Her warm heart gave me strength.
The value of life she showed me, and her faith in hope — these I will never forget.
Sources
Every factual claim above is traceable. We do not translate articles — we gather facts from multiple outlets and write them ourselves.
- 김밥 아주머니와 다운증후군의 예쁜 딸 — 청람서루 · Kim Wang-sik
