“Try me,” Tori challenged. “I’m not a baby anymore, Mom.”
“Okay,” my mother started. “What is the purpose of that tape? It’s different from regular makeup, which adds color and highlights your existing features. That tape causes a physical change in your face.”
“So?” said Tori.
“You were born with Korean eyes. There is absolutely nothing wrong with them. Are they smaller than Western eyes? Yes. Is that a problem? No! Don’t get caught up with Western concepts of beauty. Why is it suddenly so important that you have ‘big eyes’?” she used her fingers for air quotes. “Next thing you know, you’ll be asking for eyelid surgery!” She was gesturing pretty wildly with her hands, so I knew she was passionate about what she was saying.
“But all the models in Korean magazines have double-eyelids!” Tori argued. “And Grandma already said she would take us to Korea one day to get the ssangapul surgery! She doesn’t seem to think it’s a bad thing!”
My mother looked shocked. “She certainly will not! You two are lovely just the way you are. I don’t want my girls to have fake dolls’ faces. That’s kind of what I see when I look at those magazines. Do you honestly think those girls were born with eyes like that? Ever hear of air brushing, Tori? Cosmetic surgery? Don’t be fooled by all those perfect faces on magazines from any country.
“Tori, I love that you have a sense of style and a real talent for fashion. That is a completely different thing than deciding to cosmetically alter your face, or coming to the conclusion that the eyes you were born with are somehow not good enough. I am not against makeup or dressing nicely and feeling good about yourself. I am against you changing your Korean-ness or whatever you want to call it, because you have been so negatively influenced by the media and pop culture to think that there is something wrong with your eyes or your face. What’s the next logical step to that way of thinking? Bleach your skin white and dye your hair blonde?”
“But you didn’t say anything about it when I first had it done for the party,” I said. I was so confused. Why did she seem to like it then and absolutely hate it now?
“I was not thrilled when you came home with it done, but because it was for a party, I let it go. I didn’t want to ruin your day. But that was dress-up! This is real life!” My mother was kind of yelling.
Tori probably understood what my mom was talking about more than I did. She was older and this was probably the stuff they talked about in high school, right? Instead of Tori arguing, which it looked like she was going to do for a second, she suddenly backed down. Tori looked as though she was thinking very hard and I saw her shoulders slump a little bit. “Okay, Mom. I get it.”
“Do you, Tori?” my mom asked, seeming visibly calmer. “I’m glad. You’re smart enough to understand what I mean, right? You know, Grandma comes from a different generation and a different culture. I don’t always agree with how she thinks. I know, I know, we’re all Korean, but I know what I think and what I find important is not the same as what Korean women in Korea feel. Different culture, different priorities, different attitudes.
“For us here, we are Korean, but we are also Canadian. Can we be both? Yes. Can we be one without the other? I don’t think so. Our Korean-ness is all mushed up with our Canadian-ness. It’s that combination that makes us who we are. I guess, long story short—let’s just embrace what we were born with and like ourselves the way we are. I really want you two to lose the eye tape, okay? It shouldn’t be part of your daily life.”
“Okay, Mom,” we both said.
Then my mom turned to me and said, “Krista, I think it’s great that you are trying to learn things from Tori and trying to find your own sense of style. I’m glad you two are having a good time together as sisters. I don’t mind you changing up the way you dress a little, in fact, we should go shopping and buy you new clothes that you want—there’s no need to always have hand-me-downs because you’re younger. But please, don’t forget who you are.”
The problem was, I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.
CHAPTER 15
At school, while we were standing outside waiting for the morning bell to ring, Emma walked up to me and said, “Krista! Those boots are cool.” They were just Tori’s old shoes. I can’t believe the stuff people notice. Every time I wore something new, at least one of the girls paid me a compliment. An actual compliment, not the kind Grandma gave. The party had only been a few weeks before, but felt like a lifetime ago.
Despite my efforts, I could still feel that Jason and I weren’t the same. I made it a point to speak to him as often as I could, but for some reason our conversations started to feel stiff. I was still spending more time with the girls, and Jason spent more time with the boys. The girls had been so into the Celebration of Dance that they noticed I was struggling with the choreography and they totally helped me get the moves down. I was grateful.
Then this morning, we got to pick groups for our science experiment, and I ended up with Madison and Jason ended up with Marcus and the boys. They got into trouble because they didn’t follow the instructions properly and made a huge mess. Mrs. June made them stay in at recess and clean up.
Jason didn’t look very happy about it. I don’t think he had ever been in trouble before in his entire life.
