2017

On a February afternoon, the city of Seoul is ablaze with pastel orange. The faint scent of winter ghosts the pavement as the wind rifles through Jaebum’s unkempt bangs.  A nearby cosmetics shop proudly plays a vociferous, unfamiliar Korean pop song. He looks around, slowing down amid the wave of people moving in haste.

Years ago, he stood on the same spot. He’s quite sure. But right in this moment, everything seems to have changed in Jaebum’s eyes—except for three things he recalls vividly; 1) the stoplight on the opposite sidewalk, 2) the same pedestrian lane to cross, 3) the same person—same destination to go to.

His left hand dangles uneasy as the right one dives into his pocket. Vehicles parades before his eyes, almost in harmony with the metropolitan buzz, “Same old pet peeve, same old,” Jaebum murmurs under his breath.

“You’re just going to stand there all night?” an old man from his left blurts out in a low, yellow tone, which makes it sound more of a statement than a question. The old man has been watching him the whole time, for the second time, Jaebum believes.

“Well,” Jaebum awkwardly begins—again, “It’s just I forgot where I am headed to,” the words coming out of his tongue smoothly as if he were singing to the lyrics of an old favorite song.

The old man responds with a rather comforting stretch of lips, “Hurry up, it’s going to rain tonight,” he says, shifting his eyes at the sky.

Without realizing, the digits at the stoplight blinks yellow; a five-second countdown. Jaebum quickly traces the curve of his phone in his pocket to check the time. It says five-thirty three. He gazes at the sky, it’s screaming in grey and orange, “Is it?”

“Get going, young boy,” says the old man.

When the red light blinked, Jaebum is heaved along the swarm of crowd, vanishing into the city just like the first time. Today, it rains.