Milk-Milk-Milk ,Single-channel video, 03:05, 2021
In the third grade of elementary school, my classmates and I were required to listen to the “Milk Song” played by our teacher and finish a small 200 ml carton of milk within three minutes. Even though I knew that drinking milk caused severe stomachaches, I drank it so that I would not appear different from the other children. The taste was unpleasant and fishy, and I hated the smell of milk on other children's breath. During the following class, I would sit through the pain, breaking into a cold sweat, and as soon as recess began, I would rush to the bathroom before anyone noticed.
At an age when children were fascinated by and constantly joked about poop and farts, I dreaded being associated with anything related to them. So I repeated this secret ritual every day: forcing myself to drink milk, enduring the stomachache, and secretly going to the bathroom. I hated milk, yet at school, at home, and on television, I heard nothing but praise for it. This only intensified the pressure to believe that every growing child should drink milk, even against their will.
Because I suffered from stomachaches almost every day, I would beg my mother each morning before school to say, “Please let our Hansol’s stomach not hurt today.” Perhaps it was a kind of superstition. On days when she forgot to say it, I would take her hand and place it on my stomach, insisting on hearing those words before leaving for school. Even when she was busy getting ready for work, I felt reassured only after she had said them.
