Photo taken from website: www.tri-pi.org, "dedicated to creating provocative live theatre that breaks down perceived barriers of race, gender, and disability for Los Angeles theatre artists and audiences"
Once, there were two daughters. The first was quick and happy, a natural beauty, and a facile liar. The second was the opposite. It goes without saying that there was tension in the house, although nobody ever acknowledged this.
One day the father died and the mother had to raise the two daughters by herself. This was pretty much what she had been doing all along anyway. By then everything had already crystallized: The happy daughter went off to college, and the other one stayed home and helped out at the dry cleaners.
Five years later the happy daughter got engaged to a fellow MBA candidate introduced by shared friends. By this time the other one had gotten fatter and homelier and sadder. She tried not to disappoint her mother too much. She suspected, correctly, that her mother had more or less given up on her and wanted to just get her off her hands.
The wedding was in the city’s premier (and only) contemporary art museum. The flower arrangements were exquisite and useless to describe. The photographer was a manic sort who danced with the other guests. From a waiving arm he took black-and-white pictures with his vintage Leica.
The other, lesser one was seated at a table with some cousins – two sisters also. She was surprised that both had come: it was well known within the community that they hated each other. But unlike her and her sister, their hatred was out in the open, especially since their own father had died. There must be a lot of tension in the house, the other, lesser daughter thought to herself (rather dully).
Eventually the happy, quicker daughter and her husband moved to Kuala Lumpur where the husband got a job consulting. The other, lesser daughter enrolled in community college because she had nothing better to do and it got her out of working at the dry cleaners. By now her mother was trying to get her fixed up with one of the many geeky FOBs whose mothers she knew from church. When she protested, her mother sharply replied, in Korean: Don’t complain – water seeks its own level.
Several years went by during which time there were major and seemingly minor developments. The quick and happy daughter and her husband moved back from Kuala Lumpur, moving into a loft in one of the rapidly developing sections of the city. Their mother seemed to be on the outs with their aunt, the mother of the two cousins who openly hated each other. In spite of or perhaps because of this, the quick and happy daughter and her husband began socializing with the cousin who was also known to be quick and happy.
The other, lesser daughter did not socialize with either cousin. It was understood that the quick and happy cousin was already taken by her quick and happy sister. And to socialize with the other cousin, who was, like her, known to be the opposite, would have been a painful admission of such a humiliating, stark symmetry. So the other, lesser daughter remained on the outside, rarely daring to peek in and smiling dutifully at witticisms made at her sister’s dinner parties on those occasions she was invited.
The other, lesser cousin, however, did not seem to see the situation this way and began to call and extend friendship to her. This was much to her annoyance – as if they were at the same level! To underscore her nonacceptance, she began to socialize more with her quick and happy sister and her quick and happy cousin. They were, to her blank surprise, eager to let her into the fold.
Maybe they were a good influence for she could almost feel herself becoming quicker and happier herself when she told them of the other cousin’s shenanigans. “Imagine her suddenly calling me – as if!” she sniffed. The quicker, happier ones nodded and smiled across a bouquet of hydrangeas placed in the same opaque vase that her quick, happy cousin had given for her sister’s wedding. She began to like this cousin more and more because she spoke to her in that same comforting, soothing way her own sister spoke to her.
One day, there was news that was supposed to be terrible: aunt was dying. Word had spread far and across the land so that by the time the funeral took place, no one was surprised. Their mother had made up with the aunt months before her death, even accepting a gift of several fancy gowns the aunt stooped to pre-bequeath her. At the post-burial meal, over bimbimbop and mochi, the other, lesser sister sat with her mother and the quicker, happier ones. Her other, lesser cousin sat with some relatives she did not know very well for they were from another province.
By now, she and her twin cousin had not spoken for almost three years and even this event was no exception. There was an awkwardness made up of resentment, bitterness, and, as she wanted to believe, unforced aloofness. Besides, she told herself, why would I want to associate with her? Everyone knew she dropped out of college and couldn’t hold down a job.
She felt content with these thoughts until, a week after the funeral, she got a call from her sister inviting her over for dinner. As this was the middle of the week, the other, lesser sister felt confused – Why? Her sister did not reply happily, but she was still quick.
One day the father died and the mother had to raise the two daughters by herself. This was pretty much what she had been doing all along anyway. By then everything had already crystallized: The happy daughter went off to college, and the other one stayed home and helped out at the dry cleaners.
Five years later the happy daughter got engaged to a fellow MBA candidate introduced by shared friends. By this time the other one had gotten fatter and homelier and sadder. She tried not to disappoint her mother too much. She suspected, correctly, that her mother had more or less given up on her and wanted to just get her off her hands.
The wedding was in the city’s premier (and only) contemporary art museum. The flower arrangements were exquisite and useless to describe. The photographer was a manic sort who danced with the other guests. From a waiving arm he took black-and-white pictures with his vintage Leica.
The other, lesser one was seated at a table with some cousins – two sisters also. She was surprised that both had come: it was well known within the community that they hated each other. But unlike her and her sister, their hatred was out in the open, especially since their own father had died. There must be a lot of tension in the house, the other, lesser daughter thought to herself (rather dully).
Eventually the happy, quicker daughter and her husband moved to Kuala Lumpur where the husband got a job consulting. The other, lesser daughter enrolled in community college because she had nothing better to do and it got her out of working at the dry cleaners. By now her mother was trying to get her fixed up with one of the many geeky FOBs whose mothers she knew from church. When she protested, her mother sharply replied, in Korean: Don’t complain – water seeks its own level.
Several years went by during which time there were major and seemingly minor developments. The quick and happy daughter and her husband moved back from Kuala Lumpur, moving into a loft in one of the rapidly developing sections of the city. Their mother seemed to be on the outs with their aunt, the mother of the two cousins who openly hated each other. In spite of or perhaps because of this, the quick and happy daughter and her husband began socializing with the cousin who was also known to be quick and happy.
The other, lesser daughter did not socialize with either cousin. It was understood that the quick and happy cousin was already taken by her quick and happy sister. And to socialize with the other cousin, who was, like her, known to be the opposite, would have been a painful admission of such a humiliating, stark symmetry. So the other, lesser daughter remained on the outside, rarely daring to peek in and smiling dutifully at witticisms made at her sister’s dinner parties on those occasions she was invited.
The other, lesser cousin, however, did not seem to see the situation this way and began to call and extend friendship to her. This was much to her annoyance – as if they were at the same level! To underscore her nonacceptance, she began to socialize more with her quick and happy sister and her quick and happy cousin. They were, to her blank surprise, eager to let her into the fold.
Maybe they were a good influence for she could almost feel herself becoming quicker and happier herself when she told them of the other cousin’s shenanigans. “Imagine her suddenly calling me – as if!” she sniffed. The quicker, happier ones nodded and smiled across a bouquet of hydrangeas placed in the same opaque vase that her quick, happy cousin had given for her sister’s wedding. She began to like this cousin more and more because she spoke to her in that same comforting, soothing way her own sister spoke to her.
One day, there was news that was supposed to be terrible: aunt was dying. Word had spread far and across the land so that by the time the funeral took place, no one was surprised. Their mother had made up with the aunt months before her death, even accepting a gift of several fancy gowns the aunt stooped to pre-bequeath her. At the post-burial meal, over bimbimbop and mochi, the other, lesser sister sat with her mother and the quicker, happier ones. Her other, lesser cousin sat with some relatives she did not know very well for they were from another province.
By now, she and her twin cousin had not spoken for almost three years and even this event was no exception. There was an awkwardness made up of resentment, bitterness, and, as she wanted to believe, unforced aloofness. Besides, she told herself, why would I want to associate with her? Everyone knew she dropped out of college and couldn’t hold down a job.
She felt content with these thoughts until, a week after the funeral, she got a call from her sister inviting her over for dinner. As this was the middle of the week, the other, lesser sister felt confused – Why? Her sister did not reply happily, but she was still quick.
“Never mind, we need you here tonight,” she said sharply and hung up the phone.
Somehow, the other, lesser sister always did what her superior sister said, so by 6:00 she was at her doorstep as requested. The husband, a tall white guy who looked like he just stepped out of a Kevin Costner movie, answered the door with a grim smile. When she walked into the livingroom she numbly noticed two things: They had repainted the walls pale green and her sisterlike cousin was sitting squarely in the middle of the sofa, looking straight at her with a resolved smile. Suddenly, she felt important, as if she were the pin in a slowly churning wheel.
“My sister may call you,” the sisterlike cousin gently announced. She suddenly noticed, for the first time, how worn and mannish this cousin’s hands were, even though she was only on the cusp of 30 and had obviously just been to a manicurist. The slower, lesser sister nodded and listened to the best of her comprehension to the faster, sisterlike cousin’s unquestionable explanation of how a daughter might react and be expected to do when she finds herself shut out of a family.
Of course, she would cooperate, there could hardly be any question. “I never talk to her anyway … what would I even say to her?” The husband, who up until now was uncharacteristically silent, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “It’s an awkward situation. If their father were still alive, everything would just go to him. But as it is …”
Of course, there was talk in the community, at church, in every dry cleaners and corner store across the land. Korean Broadcasting Television fed the story via satellite across the ocean and chatrooms spawned countless threads. But the other, the lesser sister kept to her word and did not feed it, even when bluntly questioned by some of the elders at church and various relatives who were obviously out of the loop.
Sometimes, as she pinned strangers’ linen before stuffing them into the next load for the white delivery van, she wondered where the other, lesser cousin was. As far as anyone knew, she left town in shame and never came back. Someone said she married a Marine and moved to Bonn. Others said she moved to Portland to work in a grocery store of a distant cousin.
Over the next several years, the other, lesser daughter continued her life at the dry cleaners and transferred her community college credits to a public city college. She still did not know what she wanted to do with her life, but her sister and sisterlike cousin reassured her not to worry, everything in good time. They seemed wise, as if they were much older and had been there already. They made her feel good with their easy laughter and warmth; her presence seemed necessary whenever the two were together and they never begrudged her awkwardness. They even called people they knew to acquire for her a more proper job and set her up on dates with fellows they knew from the office. Finally, she did not even have to take out a student loan, thanks to her sisterlike cousin who, of course, did not charge interest and kept the repayment terms open-ended.
“You’re lucky,” her mother said sternly. “That other one, your cousin, she didn’t know how good she had it. Now look at her -- an orphan, a nobody. Be grateful you now have two sisters.”
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