moving to seoul might just have been the best decision naoto has ever made.
although maybe this isn’t really saying much, because most good things in his life were completely out of his control: being born into a good family, being decently smart, not terribly ugly, having an easy time in high school etc, etc – he didn’t really decide any of this, it just sort of happened.
but he did decide on seoul. hongik university, specifically. and then deungdae sharehouse on top of that.
there are so many little variables to consider, and so many ways in which this could’ve gone terribly wrong. but here he is, happy. annoying his roommates on the daily with his intentionally(?) lame jokes and shameless advances, making light work of industrial engineering by simply turning his work in on time and using his few remaining braincells wisely, and following it all up by getting absolutely blasted down in hongdae every weekend.
first choice, best choice. some might say he’s gassed up to high heaven from having breezed through life up until now, but naoto maintains he must be doing something right. maybe it’s insanely good karma from a past life, maybe he’s just lucky.
or maybe he chose this too; for things not to be too complicated, and to have an easy outlook on life. after all, it’s not like he never had an excuse to get bogged down either. any rejection could’ve been the one that ruined his trust, every failure could’ve dissuaded him from trying again.
and yet, it doesn’t. easy as that. either it doesn’t take to him, or he just doesn’t care.
(sometimes it’s a bit of both: and sometimes he has to work a little harder than he cares to admit)
Appa only leaves behind traces of himself, just enough to prove he existed once.
A cassette collection, memorabilia of fifteen years gone by, a few books, clothes, and a handful of pre-cancer photographs.
There’s no documentation to reveal the man he is in his final days. Skinny frame, sunken cheeks, sallow skin. Sickly looking to the Nth degree.
“No one likes to remember a dying man, Jiwon.” He says.
( “I don’t want you to remember your father this way.” He means. )
——————————————————-
It’s a gradual downgrade in living.
They start in a house. Then an apartment. Then a half-basement.
Appa’s pension disappears in a few years. Three kids and a part time job eat the money up too quickly. Umma litters the dinner table with bills. Cries into her palms when she thinks Jiwon is asleep.
A widow and three kids struggle to survive. No one cares, the scene is too commonplace.
“I need you to help me out, Jiwon.” Umma says in the same sort of cold-yet-desperate tone she’s always had since Appa’s death. “I have a seven hour shift at the restaurant and then a four hour shift at the bar. I won’t be back until tomorrow.”
She doesn’t need to say the rest, Jiwon gets the idea. Take care of Jiyul, make dinner, clean the house, be a second mother at twelve because need dictates necessity.
“I love you,” Umma says to Jiyul and Jina as she kisses them on the head.
“Make sure the kitchen is clean when you’re done.” She says to Jiwon.
The effect is hardly the same.
——————————————————-
Halmeoni let’s them come over sometimes.
She says Jiwon still needs time to be a girl before it’s all over and she’s a woman swimming in regret and resentment.
Umma hates it.
( “We don’t need handouts,” Umma says as the bills pile up on the table, while Jiwon cleans up the house after a long day.
The oldest daughter is a confidant.
The oldest daughter is a surrogate parent.
The oldest daughter is a maid.
The oldest daughter is a punching bag.
The oldest daughter is not a child.
“I think she’s just trying to be nice,” Jiwon replies, “I think she misses her grandkids. We’re the only thing she has left of her son.”
Umma only scoffs. )
Jiwon takes advantage of the time off. Closes herself in Appa’s room and wonders what he was like at her age.
He’s got an old guitar stuffed away in a closet that she likes to pick at. Halmeoni says Jiwon looks just like him when she sits on the bed and fiddles with it, making racket for racket’s sake.
Jiwon never tells her it’s the only thing that makes her feel a little close to him.
——————————————————-
Seoul is only two and a half hours from Ulsan via train. May as well be light years.
She leaves with a few bags and a ratted guitar case, like every other naïve idiot in the country; too green for anyone’s good.
It takes nothing short of a miracle and hours of hard work into the wee hours in the morning to get her in Hongik, she squanders almost all of it within two semesters.
It’s the foreignness of freedom that sets her on fire. For the first time she answers to no one and is responsible for no one– sheer euphoria.
Umma calls and texts too much. Tells Jiwon about life back home, bitches about whoever at the restaurant, talks about Jiyul and Jina and how the world revolves around them still.
Jiwon never talks about the songs she’s written, or the boys she’s met, or the music she plays, or the bands she’s in. Only school and work bridge the conversation, enough to let Umma know she’s surviving.
“That’s good,” Umma always says at the end of every conversation, “do well the graduate soon, I need you and your nice job to help me here.”
Sending an email because I think you’ll yell at me less this way.
I dropped out of school today. I know I’m a few credits shy of graduation and I know it’s taken me too long to get to this point. I’m in a band, we’re doing really well. I hope to be signed by a label too. I could’ve stayed in school and dropped out of the band and graduated and become a teacher and regretted it my whole life, I decided to do the opposite. I write a lot of songs, I’m really good at guitar and I don’t want to live my life in regret. I believe this choice will end up working out well too.
I know you’re angry with me but please don’t hate me too much. Jiyul and Jina already knew this was happening, they said they’ll help out around the house more too so you don’t have to worry. I’ll still send money home to help with bills, I got another job to help pay for everything. Please don’t be disappointed in me either.
I’ll send you a copy of our new song once it’s out so you can see how good we really are.
xxxxx Jiwon
——————————————————-
Umma leaves a 4 minute and 12 second voicemail at 1 am in the morning in response.
She starts with “stupid”, ends it with “selfish bitch” and sticks the question “I raised you for twenty years and this is how you repay me?”
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