My paternal grandmother is a religious fanatic. She was a devoted goer of this protestant church that had been considered a cult at first but had become acknowledged as a proper sect as it grew in number of believers and hence its power. You know, the one whose creed is, ‘the more money you donate to us, the more God’s blessing you’ll get’, as mentioned in my previous instalment. Whilst those believing in other religions generally keep their religious beliefs and activities to themselves, protestants in Korea can be a bit too zealous in their attempts to convince others to become or convert into protestants and join the sect they belong to. Sometimes they can go overboard with their missionary campaigns to the degree where they’re frowned upon. However, both ‘zealous’ and ‘overboard’ would be understatements in describing my grandmother as a protestant; she’s downright extreme when it comes to her coaxing others to join the congregation of her treasured church.
I have few memories about my grandmother, but one of them is simply unforgettable. I was 10 or 11 years old. One day, grandmother rang when I was alone at home. She must’ve wanted to talk to dad or mum, and she should’ve hung up upon learning that neither of them was home. Instead, she grabbed the chance to torment her little granddaughter when there was no one to stop her. She ordered me to bring a Bible and a hymnbook. Then she commanded that I kneel. I’m afraid I was too good of a kid and did everything she instructed me to, even including the kneeling part, although I could’ve easily lied about it and there was no way she could catch me out. Grandmother told me to open specific pages in the Bible and read verses and sing hymns with her. She was basically forcing a worship on me over the phone, and it continued for an hour—YES, AN HOUR. And I kept kneeling for the better part of that longest hour of my life since she never said I could get out of that torturous position. After the hour of being subjected to child torture, I could no longer stand it, so I just hung up on her without saying anything. Whenever I recollect this unforgettable day, I’m perplexed at how a 10-or-11-year-old could put up with crazy grandmother’s nonsense for a whole hour, kneeling at that. At the same time, I’m amused that I eventually hung up on her, although I should’ve done so as soon as she commanded me to kneel.
My dad had been a regular attendee of the dodgy church like my grandparents, and for the first several years of their marriage, mum had to tag along, as dictated by her parents-in-law. I don’t remember the incident since I was too young, but apparently, I almost got abducted by some old woman in the church after a Sunday worship, in amongst the congregation that was flooding out of the chapel. At the time, mum thought I was with grandmother, and grandmother thought I was with mum, and when mum realised I was missing and started a panicky search, I was spotted holding the old woman’s hand. When caught red-handed, the old woman nonchalantly said, ‘Oh, why is this kid holding my hand?’ It sends chills down my spine to imagine what kind of life I’d have had if I’d been abducted that day.
Another time when I was still a little kid, dad took me to the church on a Sunday, and I had to hold my pee for so long on the bus, to the point where my bladder was about to burst. Instead of getting off at an earlier stop to let me relieve myself, dad just kept telling me to hold it a bit longer. Knowing him, he was probably more concerned about being late to the worship under his overbearing parents’ watch than about my plight. Somehow, I don’t recall whether I ended up wetting my pants or managed to hold it in until we arrived at the church. What I do remember is that I started having UTI symptoms from around that age, and I wonder if holding pee for too long that day might have caused it.
My recollections of church having been all tainted with negative experiences, there was no way I’d voluntarily go to one. However, I had a good impression of the Catholic church (it was pre-child sexual abuse scandals), as my mum and maternal grandmother were both Catholics, and they never pushed anyone to believe in Christianity. In fact, I’ve never come across any Catholics who do so, nor any Buddhists. As far as my experience goes, they never try to preach or convert others, which to me is a great positive. Later, my dad also became a Catholic and so did my maternal grandfather, both of them baptised as Augustino. So when I longed for something to rely on spiritually, I too went to a Catholic church. I was baptised at the age of 19, when I was studying one more year for CSAT. I was a devout believer back then. In the RCIA class taught by a graceful old nun, I studied diligently, taking neat and detailed notes, in addition to writing down verses from the Bible as assignments. I attended Mass every Sunday morning, memorised prayers, and even prayed often on my own with a rosary in my hand. One evening shortly before my second SCAT, the church offered a special service for the test takers. I must’ve been under enormous pressure to perform well at the test and enter a decent university (as any Korean student would be), because I couldn’t control my weeping when the young and handsome priest (I thought many a time, ‘What a shame for women’ whenever I laid my eyes on him) gave me a blessing.
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