Work Text:
1932
The first grade me strolled home one day, ecstatic by the fact that he missed his third Japanese language class that week. He skipped along the pavement while humming the newest tune his grandfather composed on their piano. While lost in thought and only focusing on jumping on the lighter patches of the pavement, he collided into a tall, dark figure. Dazed and disoriented, he sat in the same position as he fell. Regaining his senses, he was startled by the look of the man towering over him. The man’s face was bony and stern, and eyes were dreary and dark. Dressed in a white uniform, he registered that the man was an officer, a Japanese officer.
“I-I...” Words could not form to save himself before getting swept off the ground by his school uniform collar. Drained of all color and utterly thunderstruck, he expected his fate by slamming his eyes shut.
“Sir, there is a big fight in the market! Something about a robbery, I heard!” A young, boyish voice said from behind his lifted figure in what was clearly Japanese. The officer callously let go of his collar, resulting in falling straight on his back allowing debris to line the air around him. The man dashed in the direction of the marketplace not looking back at him lying in agony.
“I’m Jimin.” The boy, owner of a remarkable smile, let out a hand which the younger me gratefully took. I did not realize the significance of that experience until I was much older. I always felt the need of returning a favor that was never fulfilled.
1934
The pressure of the wind pounding against my ears nearly deafened me. I tried to only concentrate on my speed and leaping over the obstacles in my way; an old woman’s slipper a few meters behind and an overflowing fruit wagon. I never stopped. I had to win. No matter what. Competition replaced the blood in my veins. Competition fueled me like a bowl of my grandfather’s exquisitely made japchae with extra sweet potato. Winning however, was like a perfectly smoking bowl of perfectly chewy tteokbokki from Mrs. Son on an empty stomach; utterly perfect. Besides, winning was even tastier when being put up against Jimin.
Almost there, I utter to myself feeling the ground softening beneath my feet. I close my eyes and accelerate until I reach the finish line, the barbed wire at the end of the neighborhood. It was of course Jimin’s terrible idea.
“What took you to long?” I halted, slowly creeping my eyes opening as I hear the familiar voice. He wore a mischievous smirk and his dress shirt swung on one shoulder the other exposed, toasting in the scorching sun.
“You cheater!” I screamed not convinced with the loss.
“I’m not a cheater you sore loser!” He chuckled as I neared him hot-headed. In defense he ran in the opposite direction of the race. He lost fair and square, scoring an additional blue bruise on his cheek.
1937
I never understood why They made us dig holes in the earth. Sometimes Jimin and I would imitate combat, falling into the trenches we dug for weeks straight. Or one would bury the other in the dirt piled meters high. Our shenanigans halted however when one of the duty officers threatened to hang us by our toes if we didn’t stop. Jimin obviously had to translate for me and laughed it off.
“Jeongguk!” Jimin yell whispered from the adjacent hole he was digging one afternoon. His eyes did something in between a flinch and an awkward, barely successful wink and pointed to the woods that perimeter the field. I did not reply to his idiocy and continued hollowing my hole sensing the petrifying shadow of the officer. He signaled for me again, wordlessly acting out a scene of him being too thirsty, too overworked, and about to faint. I rolled my eyes and in a matter of seconds find him picking at my shirt from above.
“I’ll buy you tteokbokki.” My ears perked up with Jimin’s statement and I did not hesitate to grab his hand.
1940
“When do you think this will all end?” I turned to the motionless Jimin. He had been strangely quiet that day alluding to the fact that his mind was not necessarily idle.
“I don’t know. Soon, I hope.” His features looked softer kissed by moonlight. The white in his eyes seemed whiter and his typically chapped, plump lips appeared like velvety chocolate. I turned to the full moon quickly after feeling heat creep into my face.
The night grew quiet as we laid enveloped under a blanket of glimmer stars. This was the only way you could see the stars in Busan; succumbing yourself on the sandy beach after the first hour of the day. There was an occasional gunshot or quarrel here or there, but relatively quiet most of the time. Silence was bearable with Jimin.
“Jeongguk.” Jimin croaked.
“Yea?” My gaze did not leave the radiant moon, partially in thought. I felt shifting where he laid and suddenly, my visual field was replaced with his dimly lit face. My eyes widened in response to the unexpected proximity of our faces. I sensed warmth pink my cheeks as Jimin continued to stare into my eyes.
“What are you doing?” I was ready to push him down, but my action was interrupted by the taste of his velvety chocolate lips. I froze practically melting into the grainy sand.
1942
Clenched onto his shirt, I craved to preserve every last thing I could of him. I gaze into his porcelain-like eyes glossed with a layer of tears; mine had already slide down my cheeks. A few minutes prior he had explained to me how he was forced to leave Busan like the millions that were “graciously chosen” to be Their slaves. It was an exchange. We were being sent to their war-stricken country to work and die for them, while Their nobles polluted our land in a natural and cultural genocide.
“I’ll open a shop—Jeongguk's TTeokbokki Town—I can see it already.” He mocked, never failing to flash his remarkable smile. It was a fake smile, but I couldn’t help myself from smiling too (regardless of the tears pouring out of my eyes), it was contagious. We both knew he wasn’t going to open a restaurant. We both knew that he and his mother would not be safe. We both knew a lot of things, but we did not utter another word.
1945
After slipping into my rubber boots, I check on hal-abeoji. He laid snoring softly completely motionless (just his excessively long nose hairs dancing with each snore). Whenever leaving for my daily labor, I feared leaving my elderly grandfather unattended. He was certainly stronger than I will ever be, but the unsettling feeling irked me. Walking on the dirt road to the shore, my mind roams to distant memories that are common visitors.
I look at my reflection in a stained window and see his figure beside me, face beaming with his signature, truly remarkable smile. We both have aged, yet immaturity latches onto us regardless of what we have seen. Sirens, screeching, and smoke suffused my ears and vision.
“Don’t worry Jeongguk, it's all gone.” I startledy return my attention to the window, but Jimin was also gone.
I forcibly wipe the tears pooling in my eyes and continue trudging to the shore. The war was over, but there will never be peace under heaven.