Why bibimbap resonates with Korean women at dawn

I felt immediate admiration the moment I saw the title, “Why Do Korean Women Eat Bibimbap at the Break of Dawn?” Indeed, why do Korean women eat bibimbap at such an early hour? And even if not strictly at daybreak, why is it that late at night, after returning from an evening that demanded a show of propriety, or after stumbling home exhausted from unresolved, lingering obligations, Korean women feel compelled to heap vegetables into a large metal bowl and briskly mix them with cold rice? The act of eating itself is not what matters. It makes little difference whether one eats or does not eat, or even whether one wants to eat but cannot. Is there a Korean woman who does not recognize this feeling?

This poem, placed at the very opening of the debut poetry collection by Park Yu-bin, a poet born in 2000, carries quiet but unmistakable weight. One senses the resolve of an investigator, a careful attempt to decipher what the poet calls “an encrypted sorrow made up of meaningless side dishes.” Of course, one cannot arrive at a reason. Nor is there any need to do so. It is enough simply to pause and imagine women pounding their chests and forcing down mouthfuls of bibimbap. It is regrettable that space does not allow the remainder of the poem to be introduced here. Readers are encouraged to seek it out for themselves. A luminous new voice has emerged.

This is both a true story and a romance.

Dawn is always good.

At that hour, everything goes down easily.

Compared with an idle midday, an unmade blanket absorbs moisture with irritation.

A thirst that renders one incapable of doing anything.

I want to eat namul. Or rather,

it seems better to think of swallowing it down

like namul, in one smooth gulp.

Memory

The usefulness of mixing

We love elaborate lies. That is merely a way of speaking.

An encrypted sorrow made up of meaningless side dishes.

Care has always been required here. Even while taking indistinguishable spoonfuls,

why is it that women crouch

in a darkened corner of the kitchen,

clutching a large metal bowl to their chests?

One cannot arrive at a reason.

(Excerpt)

Park Yu-bin