Lost among the hub-bub of Christmas, Jesus, Snow, and the Great Economic Downturn, my grandmother, Pak Bu Nam, chugs along, celebrating her 98th birthday this month. That's right, 98 years old.
Her birthday date changes every year - to be honest, she can't even remember at this point. What she does know is that her birthday arrives a few days after the first full moon of December. That's the single most coolest birthday date I've ever heard of. Its fucking sick.
The Christmas moment I'm going to remember is sitting down with family for a pot roast dinner, looking to my right, and seeing my tiny little grandmother go to town on mashed potatoes and roast cow, capping it off by downing the tiniest sip of wine, then holding onto my hand as I walked her to her room.
So here's to you, Halmoni. Happy Birthday.
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