dear xx,

my mom will hold a scalding hot pot with her bare hands. to push potatoes deeper in the boiling water for the noodle soup we’ll be having for dinner, she’ll penetrate her fingers into the first layer of searing steam and almost touch the volatile bubbles of water. as if oil droplets magically avoid splattering onto her bare arms, she’ll grill pork belly in an apron and short sleeves and won’t flinch even once.

as i grow older, i’ve noticed that a scalding hot pot isn’t getting any less hotter. it’s still scalding hot. i’ll try to follow mom and use my hands to push the potatoes deeper into the boiling water, but i burn my hands before i even get halfway past the layer of steam. when i grill pork belly, i put on a sweater and cover my hands with my sleeves, wear my glasses to prevent the possibility of permanent vision loss, and stand so far from the stove that i can barely touch the pork with the tip of my wooden spatula. it’s not that mom’s invincible like we all think moms are. mom’s love was just so great that not being able to feed me warm home-cooked meals was more painful than burns or splatters.

in addition to the harsh steam and oil, my mom has her hands in water and soap so often that a lot of times, she’ll form rashes because her hands are stripped dry of their essential oils and moisture. i always tell her that she should take a break from cooking and eat out so that the cracks on her delicate hands can heal. she’ll scold me and ask me why she would spend precious money on restaurants when making a delicious and healthy Korean meal takes ten minutes. i don’t care. her hands are more precious to me.

so i carry hand cream with me wherever i go. for my stubborn mom who will fly miles to hand deliver me tubs of Korean dishes but refuses to drive ten minutes to the restaurant in our small village, the only thing i can do is squeeze some cream on her hands in hopes that the rashes will show some mercy. those hands that work overtime because her loving heart gives them too much to do.

my dream is to be like hand cream. i want to calm rashes. even if i can only permeate so far into the skin’s layers, i want to go as deep as to soothe and warm the heart. i want to mend the wounds and wrinkles of time and life.

i want to be like hand cream.

a hand cream for my mom. my dad. my brother. everyone.

love xx