Music Hyperlink: Happy People, by Solar.

Home was a vast dwelling with a large patio, white walls turned a pale yellow from age, rivulets of rainwater staining the paint and turning the piping a rusty reddish-brown. Home was a zinc-tiled roof, built for safety against storms and snow, home was a handmade birdhouse hanging under the awning by the front door, where sparrows chirruped as they flitted around, home was charcoal briquettes and kimchi pots and overgrown grass.

Off to the side, a low wooden table under the generous shade of a camphor tree. Its leaves, the colour of fading sunset, veins stark against blades, were plucked off by a gentle autumn breeze, crinkling like paper as it drifted, drifted, drifted to rest at Yena’s feet. Dancing around the fragile leaf, she took her first steps towards the house, marvelling at how awesomely huge it was in comparison to the compact apartments she was used to back in Seoul.

“Woah, it’s so peaceful here,” Yena exclaimed, turning around to smile at her companion. Her smile faltered when she saw Yuri hesitate by the gate. “Yuri? You okay?”

Yuri stared at the house, the place she called home for so many years, and her lips nervously. Her hands hesitated on the waist-high gate, feeling the rough sensation of paint and metal under her fingers. It had only been five days, but already everything felt so distant, so unfamiliar, as if there was this unbridgeable gap between the house of days past and that of now.

Walking towards her, Yena reached out to place her hand next to Yuri’s on the gate. Yena gently pulled the gate open, gazing at Yuri expectantly. They exchanged quiet glances. Taking in a deep breath, Yuri stepped through the gate, listening to it creak back into place behind her. Without breaking her stride she immediately headed towards the house, accompanied by the loud crunching of paper-thin leaves as she crushed them under her soles. “Let’s go.”

Taking off her shoes at the entrance, Yena followed Yuri in.

The interior of the house was cozy, warm, littered with knick-knacks both big and small. The main area of the house was a mix of living and dining rooms, with a tattered sofa dominating the space. An old television, one with dials and knobs that had to be turned to adjust its settings, was slotted between shelves next to a newer, more modern one. A patterned rug filled the space between, with a foldable table arranged on it, still left unfolded from the last time it was used.

As they made their way through the house, Yena’s gaze drifted over delicate photographs, sepia-toned or black-and-white or in full colour, as they hung on walls or were perched on drawers. Yena paused by a particularly eye-catching picture, a photo that must once have held some colour but had faded over the years. In it was a family of four: an older woman with pepper-salt hair sitting in the middle of the photograph, wrinkles that started to etch themselves into the corners of her eyes and around when she smiled; a couple, man and woman standing behind her, youthful with eyes full of joy and love as they held in their arms an infant, barely a few weeks old. The baby’s tiny hands clung onto her mother’s finger, holding it tightly in her fist, as she slept peacefully. Her wide mouth was slightly ajar, drool already trickling down her chin. Yena chuckled; Yuri’s sleeping habits hadn’t changed a bit.

Yuri suddenly came to a stop by a doorway, causing Yena to nearly collide into her. Curious, Yena tiptoed and peeked over her shoulder. Inside were mattresses folded over each other, leaning against a large mahogany wardrobe. An assortment of pens and books formed a neat pile under a window next to a low study desk. What struck Yena the most were the pictures stuck on the wardrobe, childish drawings in crayon and coloured pens, drawings of stick-figure families playing under the sun or standing next to a large family house. The largest one in the middle of them all was a rough sketch in pencil of a camphor tree, the house in the background, and two people - Yuri and her grandmother, Yena guessed - standing under the tree, holding hands.

“This is- was our room.” Walking in, Yuri started to take what she needed. Yena awkwardly hovered around her. She breathed in the comfortable, warm scent of the house, bathing in the fragrance of passionfruit soaked in mothballs and aged wood as she paced around.

When Yuri moved to peel the drawings of the cupboard, Yena quickly shot out a hand to stop her. “Wait, what are you doing? Are you going to throw them away?”

“I-” Yuri stared at the drawings in her hands, shuffling them in thought.. “I don’t, I don’t know.”

“You should keep them.” Yena tapped the one at the top of the drawing pile, the pencil sketch. “Especially this one.”

“Grandma drew it,” Yuri murmured, reminiscing with a soft smile on her face, “two years ago, before I left for uni.” She sniffled; a lone tear dripped down and plopped onto the sketch. 

Without missing a beat Yena whipped out a tissue from somewhere and wiped her tears away. “It’s a really pretty sketch. You looked like a ten-year-old though. Tiny kid,” she teased, tapping the sketch of Yuri.

Yuri emitted a watery laugh. “How dare you. I look like an adult.” She sneered at Yena. “You look more like a kid than I do.”

Yena tossed her hair behind her and huffed pretentiously. “I’m older than you, thanks very much. But thank you for saying I look young. My youthful beauty is eternal.”

Yuri snorted and mimed puking. “Sure.”

“Anyway, what else do we need?”

“I just need to see what I want to give away and what I want to keep.” Yuri waved Yena off. “Go explore the kitchen, see whether there’s anything that’s expired or anything that we can’t bring back with us.”

“Okay.”

Walking to the kitchen, Yena spied packs of dried seaweed and noodles hanging from hooks and bags of rice shoved against walls. Tins of coffee and tea and spices of various flavours were arranged on a table next to a hefty refrigerator. Pots and pans revealed themselves in cupboards under the stove along with an assortment of oils and sauces. As she sorted through the foodstuff, Yena imagined a younger Yuri busy herself around the kitchen, cooking ramen or frying eggs at the stove, just like what she did a few days ago at Yena’s place. Her heart warmed at the memory.

By the time they were done, the soft glint of sunset shone through the half-open blinds that covered the windows, marking dark grey trapeziums against the orange-bathed floor. Yena dusted off her hands with a loud smack and grinned at Yuri. “Got everything?”

Yuri nodded. “I’ve passed around a list of things I think we should give away to the neighbours. About the things to keep… Well, we can always come back for them another day, can’t we?”

“W-we can?” Yena blinked at the pronoun, processing, then beamed brilliantly. “Of course we can!”

“Okay.” Standing in the middle of the living room, Yuri took one long, long look around the house, and sighed. She turned to look at Yena who was patiently waiting by the entrance.“Let’s go.”

#

Their next stop was the columbarium. Like back at the family house, Yuri once again paused at the threshold, staring up at the unfamiliar, imposing structure. Yena stood a few steps away, her hands clasped together politely. “Aren’t you coming?” Yuri asked, her voice small.

Yena scuffed her shoe against the ground and shrugged. “I thought, you know, I shouldn’t be going in with you. It’s like I’m intruding on something really private, so…”

Pulling her lips into a pout, Yuri tugged at Yena’s sleeve. “Come with me. Please?” As reluctant as she was to witness what should be a private moment of Yuri’s, Yena knew she couldn’t say no to that adorable pout, so she gave in and nodded.

Following the directions given to Yuri by her grandmother’s ex-nurse, they weaved through the rows of niches, Yuri’s eyes scanning photos and names. “Ah, found her,” she exclaimed quietly, beelining for the niche, clearly new from how it was almost bare save for a photo, an urn, and some semi-wilted flowers.

Yena glanced away as Yuri first paid her respects, then back again when she felt was most appropriate. Approaching the niche, she too bowed in respect, silently saying some prayers as she did so. She helped Yuri arrange a few plastic flowers that they picked out together (flowers that would never wilt, like beauty that would never fade) and a couple of persimmons in the niche. Yena gasped when she saw what Yuri placed next to the picture of her grandmother. It was the photograph that caught her eye back in the house, the one of Yuri’s family, all loving smiles and innocence. 

Glancing between the two photos, Yena realised that Yuri’s grandmother had never really changed over the years. Sure, she might have aged in the time between the two photos, yet youthful was the word that came to mind. Yuri’s grandmother had eyes that sparkled, and yet were as deep as the ocean, as if she had carried the wisdom of lifetimes before her. A generous smile graced her wide lips, just like Yuri’s. 

Recalling their conversation over the phone, Yena locked eyes with the photo of Yuri’s grandmother and nodded. “Good evening, ma’am. I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. I’m here with Yuri, just as I promised. I’ll continue to try my best to take care of her, always and forever,” she whispered, bowing again.

Before the columbarium shut its doors for the day, Yena placed a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. She could feel Yuri tremble with unshed tears as she fought to stay strong, and patted Yuri’s back soothingly. “Take your time. I’ll wait outside for you, okay?” 

Yuri nodded gratefully. As Yena weaved her way out of the building, Yuri called her name. “Yena?”

Yena glanced back. “Yeah?”

Yuri’s breath hitched in . She took a deep breath to steady herself, then gave Yena a bright smile, the sweetest and warmest smile Yena had ever seen.

“Thank you.”