The event I'm going to talk about is a dinner held by my husband's family soon after we got engaged, in Seoul. It took place at his parents' apartment on a Sunday evening, and around fifteen relatives came, including his grandmother, who's eighty-nine and very traditional.
I was nervous for several reasons. Firstly, I'm from Busan, and his family is from Seoul, so I worried they'd find my accent and manners a little rough. Secondly, I'd heard that his grandmother hadn't been entirely happy about the engagement, because she'd hoped he'd marry someone from a family she knew. And thirdly, I'm not a confident cook, and I'd been told it was customary to bring a dish I'd made myself. I practised making japchae, a noodle dish, four times that week, and my flat smelt of sesame oil for days.
In the end, the evening turned out far better than I'd feared. The first half-hour was stiff; I bowed too deeply and nearly knocked over a glass. But then his grandmother tasted my japchae and said it was too sweet, which made everyone laugh, including me, and somehow that broke the tension. She started telling me how she makes it and asked me to come back so she could teach me. We spent the rest of the evening in the kitchen together. Now, two years later, I visit her every month, and she calls me her favourite granddaughter-in-law, although I suspect she says that to everyone. It taught me that the things we fear most are often the start of something good.