I am sitting next to a Korean mother and her son. The kid dutifully gets their silverware from the counter and places it on paper napkins for the both of them. He’s eating fried rice and his mom has seolleongtang, ox-bone soup. He must be in his early twenties, but his mother is still instructing him on how to eat, just like my mom used to. “Dip the onion in the paste.” “Don’t add too much gochujang or it’ll be too salty.” “Why aren’t you eating the mung beans?” Some days, the constant nagging would annoy me. Woman, let me eat in peace! The mom places pieces of beef from her spoon onto his spoon. He is quiet and looks tired and doesn’t talk to her much. I want to tell him how he should be kind to his mom, remember that life is fragile and she could be gone at any moment. Tell her to go to the doctor and make sure there isn’t a small tumor growing inside her. I want to tell him how much I miss my mother.