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Inside, there’s a bustle of people obtaining locker keys and suiting up their children in tan-colored jumpsuits that will protect their clothes while they frolic in the flour.
Yujun introduces me as his “Yeoja chingu, or girlfriend, Hara-nim,” and something else in Korean that sounds a little like “as I told you before.” He explained earlier the children don’t speak much English, but as my vocabulary level is around that of a kindergartener, I feel like I’ll be a good companion.
I hand out the gifts and am rewarded with squeals and baby hugs, which I find are the best hugs second only to the Yujun hug. There’s something endearingly sweet about being embraced by small arms that are barely long enough to wend around your neck. The parents bow and smile and wave goodbye, taking the bags of gifts with them, although two bracelets get left behind—one for each of the children.
Yujun helps the kids off with their shoes and their jackets, which I stuff into the lockers. Once the kids are in their protective clothing, bigger aprons are produced for us. We are then shown to a small room filled with flour, a slide no higher than my chest, and a plastic kitchen stowed against the wall. The two kids dive in—literally—and Yujun isn’t far behind.
He takes a shovel and dumps flour over both kids’ heads. They get their revenge by attacking him from both sides and taking him down. I help by filling small containers with flour that the kids use to fling all over Yujun. It’s not long before we’re coated like a set of vegetables ready for our tempura bath.
Our time in the flour sandbox speeds by fast, and soon the clock above the door says we have to go.
“Aaaani,” cry the children, or maybe it was Yujun. No one wants to leave.
“Beiking.” I pretend to hold a bowl and stir. The English loan words in the Korean vocab are helping me communicate with these adorable babies.
“Mmm, cookies.” Yujun rubs his stomach, and that’s enough to convince the other two to move on. We meet in the corner and take turns blowing the flour off with the pneumatic air hose. Yujun sticks the air blower up the sleeve of Nayeon’s shirt and then pushes her arm at the elbow so it looks like she’s flexing. I pull out my phone and take several photos, smearing flour all over the screen and not caring one iota.
The afternoon with the kids might be one of the best ones I have had here in Seoul. We spend the next hour mixing, baking, and then decorating cookies. While they cool, the kids eat a kid tart, which consists of white bread, cream cheese, and assorted fruits. They each make their own. Nara offers me a bite and I take a small one although he’s poked holes in the bread with his sweaty fingers. He could’ve smothered the sandwich in spit and I would’ve gladly eaten it. These two children are precious, and I can see why Yujun is so attached.
I would also never want to separate him from them. Fingers crossed, though, everything is working out well.
“Where should we go from here?” Yujun says as we are grabbing the things from the locker.
“Lotte World!”
“Everland!”
“Hmm. A tie. What is your vote, Hara?” Yujun asks.
I glance from one expectant face to the other. “Why not do rock paper scissors?” I improvise. I am not going to be the one to disappoint either child.
“Good idea.”
The three play that complicated game of rock paper scissors that all Koreans must learn in the womb. Lotte World, aka Nayeon, wins, but her brother doesn’t look too disappointed.
Nayeon whispers something in Yujun’s ear and then looks at me shyly.
“I don’t think you’re old enough for the uniforms, but I’m sure Hara will ride the carousel, won’t you?”
“Of course. Ne!” I nod vigorously. “What’s this about the uniforms?” I ask as we follow the kids outside to Yujun’s car.
“Near the carousel, there’s a uniform rental shop where you can dress up as a student and take photos in their fake classroom like you’re in a drama.”
“Oh, that sounds adorable.”
“Nayeon is too young. You have to be twelve.”
“That sounds like a crime against children. We should protest.”
Yujun relays this to Nayeon, who gives me a look of frank approval, which is the best compliment I’ve received in months.
Our progress comes to a halt when we see Yujun’s cousin and his wife step out of their car. Their somber faces send a chill down my spine. They aren’t supposed to be here. We’re meeting for dinner and there’s still a whole afternoon left.
Yujun leaves the kids with me and walks over to hear what must be bad news. Is it Sae Appa? Even little Nayeon senses something is wrong and slips her small starfish fingers inside mine.
