Hwato Anonymous

At the tender age of nine, both my hands clutching the glass of water I’d carefully poured, I made my way over to the table where my grandmother, or Halmoni as we say in Korean, sat before a war zone of cards strewn across the table. I was not prepared for the ultimate betrayal that would occur in the following moments. My Halmoni whipped out her trump card, which she’d taken from the deck while my back was turned to pour the water she’d purposely requested. As if in slow motion, I saw her raise her hand, pause for a second, and then proceed to slam it on the table. Just like that, with a single card, the game was over and Halmoni was victorious.

I owe much of what made my childhood unique to a very powerful figure in my life: my Halmoni. She was born and raised in Seoul, and much of her influence came from her own upbringing and traditional values. She’d teach me different Korean phrases and their meanings, she’d take me out to eat all sorts of Asian delicacies, and she’d show me all the rituals we had to practice for Lunar New Year and other holidays. But the one thing that remains a pillar of our relationship isn't our food, or our language, or our customs. It is a little stack of tiny red plastic cards.

These are used for a...