Thank You, Choco Pie
A Little Comfort During My Days as a Private
Looking back, I still don't know why Choco Pie, something I barely ate before joining the military, tasted so incredibly good. One bite, and it felt as if the hardships of military life simply melted away.
Choco Pie is a Korean snack made of soft cake layers and marshmallow filling, all coated in chocolate.
I loved that feeling so much that I wanted to keep the whole thing to myself. Maybe that was why so many soldiers hid Choco Pies in their personal boxes.
Food wasn't allowed in the barracks because of the risk of attracting mice. If we were caught, we could be made to run around the parade ground for an hour carrying our full packs and rifles.
Still, nobody seemed willing to give up their Choco Pies.
And even after taking that risk to hide one, you could still end up having it stolen. Once, I reached into my personal box and felt around. My belongings were there, but the Choco Pie was gone.
Someone had taken it.
I suspected one of the soldiers who had stood night watch before me, but I had no proof. All I could do was stew in my anger. I should've just eaten it.
I'd saved it for later, only to have it end up in some other guy's mouth. That thought made me surprisingly furious.
But as a private, I wasn't exactly in a position to make a fuss over a stolen Choco Pie. All I could do was hope the days would pass quickly and that I would move up in rank.
Even so, everyone kept hiding them.
Night watch was a battle against boredom and waves of sleepiness, and a Choco Pie offered an amazing little bit of comfort. How do you even describe the feeling of that chocolate coating slowly melting on the tip of your tongue?
There was a whole procedure for eating one during night watch.
First, you had to make sure everyone was asleep if you wanted to pull off the perfect crime. Once even the soldier who had woken me up had fallen asleep, I'd slowly crawl on my knees toward my box. Then I'd slip my hand inside and carefully pull out the Choco Pie without making a rustling sound.
Once that part was done, all that remained was to enjoy it.
I'd take the tiniest bites imaginable and let each one slowly melt in my mouth. During night watch, a single minute could feel like thirty, and the Choco Pie made those endless minutes just a little less miserable.
There was something comforting, too, about knowing that Choco Pie came from the civilian world.
The military-issue crackers came with little sugar candies. They were sweet enough, but they were never as welcome as a Choco Pie. Maybe it was because Choco Pie belonged to the world I had left behind. Eating one made me feel, however briefly, connected to that world again.
Back then, I even went to church because I knew I could get a Choco Pie there.
To be honest, that wasn't the only reason. Going to church also meant getting a ride off base.
The air felt different outside. I liked being around people who weren't wearing military uniforms. For a little while on Sundays, I could return to the world I had once lived in—the world I would go back to after my discharge.
That felt like a special privilege.
Maybe that was why almost all the soldiers sitting in church were privates. I sometimes wondered how many of them were actually believers. I have to confess that I wasn't one myself.
Then I became a corporal.
There was more time to breathe, and I finally had the freedom to stop by the PX now and then. I still remembered watching the corporals head to the PX whenever they pleased while I was running around like crazy as a private. I would stare at them with envy and tell myself:
"Just wait. Once I'm a corporal, I'll practically live at the PX."
The funny thing was, once I became a corporal, I wasn't as hungry anymore. The craving for sweets faded, too. Choco Pie didn’t taste nearly as good as it once had.
Looking back, I don't think my craving for Choco Pie as a private was simply because I was hungry.
I was constantly tense in an unfamiliar environment, never knowing exactly how each day would unfold. At a time like that, a single Choco Pie was a small comfort that let me put everything down for a moment and simply breathe.
As I moved up in rank, military life gradually became familiar. I learned the daily routine. I got to know the people around me. Most of all, I learned how I was supposed to act.
And strangely enough, I stopped desperately searching for something to comfort me. Little by little, my love for Choco Pie faded, too.
After I was discharged, I didn't touch a Choco Pie for decades.
Whenever I spotted one in a grocery store, it brought back memories of the ones I used to eat in the military, and for a moment I would feel a little wistful.
The Choco Pie I had once hidden away and eaten, even though I might have been punished for it, no longer stirred that same fierce desire in me.
Now Choco Pie remains only in my memory, like an old friend who shared a difficult time with me long ago.
I no longer need that friend, but I still feel a certain tenderness toward it.
So here it is, plainly: Thank you, Choco Pie.
*You can check out my previous post, My First Day at a Korean Military Boot Camp—A Personal Story of Mandatory Military Service in South Korea
* The top image was created by Nano Banana.
Comments
Post a Comment