XXXII

This is how Yongsun protects herself: with the Theory of Life, the words from Yongsun’s theory enclose her, they are a wall, a barrier — they keep her from harm as the industrial world puffs smoke and clatters. Know this, though, Yongsun is aware that there is a flaw in the theory, causing it to tear, it rips, slowly, like peeling a band-aid, opening an old wound that is still trying to heal. 

She thinks about Moonbyul and her scarred back which carries the weight of the new world (steel and metal) while it desperately tries to hold onto the old world (flesh, blood and bone). Yongsun believes Moonbyul hates her, resents her for what she has done: turned Moonbyul into something less of this place, world, universe.

Sitting on the porch, Yongsun brushes away her tears, draws a deep breath, and pulls her legs close to her chest. She rocks back and forth while she shakes, as she imagines flashbombs falling like snowflakes, covering the ground in white — blank.

Yongsun leaves her torn-down house and goes to the capital in search of a job knowing that the city will have to be rebuilt and Yongsun wishes nothing more than return to her original purpose in life (her ‘destined greatness’, she recalls one of her teachers saying). Yongsun easily finds a job and begins mending the city, already having images of new houses, offices and roads in her mind.