one: galbitang

“What the freaking hell is this?” My wonderfully and equally tall cooking teacher asked, eyes infused with mixed emotions of dread and confusion.

“It’s supposed to be galbitang.” I replied sarcastically, looking at the mass of censored crap in a bowl. “Well?”

“Wow, what an absolute failure.” He didn’t bother on mincing his words, this .

“Gee, thanks.” Neither did I.

He threw a look at me. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on letting me eat this?”

“What are you here for then?!” I barked.

“Obviously, I’m here to teach you.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job, huh?” I pouted.

“You’re just one terrible student.” He ended simply and I groaned.

This was my life right now and I have to say that it was a whole lot better before. I’m a bachelor, you see, and for the past few years of living alone I’ve had nothing to eat but instant, processed, microwavable meals because I can’t cook. Yeah, I can’t cook. Thanks to that, I’ve suffered a pretty traumatizing experience of low bowel movement (LBM if that’s not obvious enough) that made me almost live in my bathroom for a week. After hearing about what happened to me, my good friend Kyungsoo dropped by with some chicken soup that’s supposedly good for the soul (and for my LBM) along with some very good advice.

“Get some cooking lessons.” He said as I just came out from the bathroom. “And good god, close that door.”

I shut the door, my other hand on my stomach. “Me? Cooking lessons?”

“I can’t always come here and offer you rice cakes and toast. You have to learn how to cook if you’re going to live by yourself.” Kyungsoo continued, his wide eyes looking at me like he was waiting for a reaction. I was still processing his first sentence. I was freaking hungry, thanks to my recent bathroom visit and that meant my mental ability was close to zero.

“Rice cakes and toast?” I echoed stupidly, “How is that appetizing?”

“Figure of speech. Get it together, hyung.” He slapped my face lightly, although to me, it felt like a slab of ice.

“I’m freaking hungry, Kyungsoo, let me eat.” I whined and he sighed, shaking his head.

After filling up my highly sensitive stomach with Kyungsoo’s delicious chicken soup, I was in complete heaven, leaning back on my chair while humming – nothing beats having people cook for you.

“Now… cooking lessons.” Kyungsoo stated. I blinked and stared at him blankly.

“Really, Kyungsoo? Cooking lessons for me?” I jeered at his idea because, really, I cannot see myself cooking for myself because as previously mentioned, I can’t cook.

“Well, you have to start somewhere.” He said. “If you learn how to cook then maybe your diet’ll get better.”

The only thing I wanted to get better was my constricted stomach. Did I have to go to the bathroom again? I hoped not. “... It’s not going to work.”

“You haven’t even tried.”

“Well, are you going to teach me?” I asked.

His eyes avoided mine, “No, I don’t have the time.”

Such a nice friend. “Then, why’d you suggest it?”

Kyungsoo ignored my question. “Why don’t you try the school I went to? They have great teachers there who can probably handle your… creativity.”

I could already see the disastrous ending to this. “I