Don't Hold Your Breath, Five Days in Seocheon
My grandfather's house is in Seocheon, South Chungcheong Province. When my dad was young, the population was around 150,000, but now it's down to about 50,000, and it's a super-aged region with an average age over 65. Lately, I'd been exhausted by everything and felt like doing nothing, so I wanted to head down early to the quiet, slow-paced Seocheon house by the sea and rest for a long time. I took the bus to Seocheon three days ahead of my family.
The first day, traffic was a bit heavy, so I arrived at the house around 8 PM. I briefly looked at the pitifully tethered dog in the yard before going to sleep early. Waking up the next day, I felt I should untie the dog. It was tied to a rope that was far too short, and the surrounding area hadn't been cleaned at all. I heard it was a dog that had been let loose in the village since it was young and always came home when it was time, but they tied it up because it trampled the village crops. Still, I thought this environment was too harsh. I untied its leash when Grandpa wasn't looking and closed the gate. Just running around the yard seemed to make the dog much happier.
After preparing Grandpa's breakfast, I made toast with sliced bread, cheese, and butternut squash mousse bought from the neighborhood mart. Brewing a delicious drip bag coffee from the local cafe and eating it while sitting in the yard brought a sense of peace. Thinking back, I'd come down to Seocheon alone several times before, and each time had been a difficult period. Like the winter of my twenty-year-old self, exhausted after finishing college entrance exams, or that winter when I had a huge fight with Dad and, not wanting to go home, packed my bags and headed for the terminal. Thinking back, most of the times I fled to Seocheon because things were tough were in winter. And after visiting Seocheon, it seemed like my troubled heart would ease up for a while. Could that happen again this time? I thought about it, sipping warm coffee and watching the dog sitting in the yard.
Seocheon Grandfather's house is in a fishing village where the sea is just a five-minute walk away. Being the West Sea, the ocean's appearance changes dramatically depending on whether the tide is coming in (high tide) or going out (low tide). Back in the day, we used to drive my dad's car (a Galloper) onto the tidal flats to dig for clams and catch cockles. But then, at some point, people started saying there were no living creatures left in the sea. After some discussion within the fishing community, they decided to stop fishing for a while, and the villagers took turns guarding the sea. My grandfather, now 90, insisted on going to guard the sea several times a week a few years ago, probably in his 80s. By keeping their promise and protecting the sea, the villagers restored it. Now, life thrives again on the tidal flats. Though not crowded, several people were seen fishing.
I searched 'Seocheon tide times' on Google and found high tide was around 2:30 PM. Though I still needed a walker, I could now walk slowly, so I decided to take a seaside stroll around high tide. I left home with just my phone, a notebook, and a pen—no earphones. My dog followed me closely. Neighbors recognized the dog. "Daebak-ah~~" (the dog's name) many neighbors called out. Daebak happily greeted every dog in the neighborhood, scampering around the area. Seeing him so happy made me feel good. I looked at Daebak, then looked up at the sky, then paused briefly because my feet hurt. I took a walk as slow as Seocheon's pace.
The sea was the most beautiful I'd seen in Seocheon since I was a child. The weather was clear, the puppy was adorable, and my heart felt peaceful. I sat on a rock and just stared off into space. I breathed in, then out, repeating. I felt the cool yet warm breeze, and by my ears came the gentle sound of the sea and the puppy's breathing. And the rustling of the trees. The sunlight was warm, and when I opened my eyes for a moment, the sky and sea filled my vision. There were no people, no noise. After zoning out for a while, I opened my zoning-out notebook. Seeing the question 'How's your breath?' made me suddenly realize I'd often been holding my breath in daily life. When things felt overwhelming, I held my breath. When I felt stifled, I held my breath. It seemed I'd simply thought, "I don't want to breathe." Why hadn't I done something as simple and good as just inhaling and exhaling? Life must have been very hard. I decided I needed to learn how to breathe properly during my stay in Seocheon.
After walking Daebak along the beach and taking a nap, the extended family arrived. While they went to Seocheon town to rent a lawn mower to trim the yard grass, I washed the yard floor. I cleaned up the spot where Daebak had been, which had been left messy and neglected. After washing the dishes and scrubbing the floor several times with water, I felt both exhausted and refreshed. After finishing the cleaning, I filled a large basin with water, soaked my feet, and gazed up at the sky. Because of the constant accidents, both my body and mind had been in bad shape, so I hadn't been able to take a proper summer vacation. Sitting in a comfortable chair with my feet in the basin, feeling the breeze, eased some of the regret over the summer vacation I hadn't taken.
My cousin brother 1, who had returned from Seocheon city, lit a fire in the yard, suggesting we have a barbecue. We just ate dinner without a care, drank beer, and watched the fire.
The next afternoon, I took Daebak for a walk along the coast again. We went a bit later than yesterday; the tide was high, and the wind was strong. It felt like the wind was blowing hard because rain was coming, but sitting still, facing the sea breeze, was truly blissful. I thought this memory alone would give me strength to keep going. What was even better was that whenever I turned my head, Daebak was sitting right beside me.
As I walked, sat in the yard, and looked up at the sky more often, I wondered why I'd been staring at all these small screens instead of the vast one before me. The watch screen, the phone screen, the laptop screen, the screen created by the beam projector – hadn't I been confining my vision to a world no bigger than a single wall? Even in the midst of the pandemic, even with my injured leg, opening the window and gazing at the sky outside should have been entirely possible. I realized it wasn't my body that was trapped, but my mind. Even if my body is confined to a low place, I must live with a lofty spirit. I pondered the lyrics once more.
On the fourth morning in Seocheon, my family finally arrived. My mother, sister, and father came through the pouring dawn rain. We performed the ancestral rites early in the morning, ate our fill, and then picked persimmons. In front of Grandfather's house stood the large persimmon trees planted twenty years ago when this house was built, and this year too, they were laden with sweet persimmons. We used a tool to pick the persimmons. When we extended the tool too far to reach a persimmon, the joint cracked. Dad fixed it by wrapping it with wire, and it seemed to work fine for a moment, but it wasn't properly secured. Still, we managed to pick a lot of persimmons in the meantime. We ate the freshly picked persimmons right away, and they were delicious. Is this the joy of harvest?
In the afternoon, we all rode in Dad's car to Dasa Port. It was a very nearby harbor, but the waves were incredibly strong, making it fun to watch. Family is a being that holds all aspects of happiness and unhappiness when together. I wondered if constantly reaffirming this known fact is also the driving force of life. Though I felt complicated emotions, the sunlight and the sea where the waves crashed were beautiful in their own way, so I gazed at the sea, lost in thought.
At night, I watched the full moon with Mom while looking at Daebak sleeping on the broom. We sipped Hansan Sogokju and chatted quietly. It had been a tough time lately, and I prayed this moment would be warm for both me and Mom. The full moon hung large and beautiful, so I made a wish. I filled it to the brim, to its maximum capacity, and sent my wish flying. Dear Moon, you'll grant them, right?
We were enjoying the moon outside when the cold drove us back inside. The moon was visible through the living room window too. The four of us lay there gazing at it for a long while before drifting off to sleep. It was the first night I slept warmly in Seocheon.
The next day, we sorted the chestnuts Mom and Dad had gathered. The worm-eaten ones were lucky—they became food for Grandpa's goats. Sorting the chestnuts was fun because they were so cute. Chestnuts stored in the fridge get sweeter over time; we were happy with an overflow of snacks this autumn.
I took Daebak for our last afternoon walk. His tail was like a fox's, he slept like a cat, and his body was like a rabbit's – leaving such a cute little doggie behind was sad. Still, having Daebak around had healed my weary heart so much. That final evening, I sat in the yard with Mom, sipping soju while watching Daebak. I decided I needed to buy a small used car soon, partly to practice driving. I'd looked into it before when I wanted to volunteer at an animal shelter, but most shelters were in outlying areas, making them inconvenient to reach without a car. I resolved that once I bought a car, I'd volunteer at animal shelters with Mom. I felt myself recovering. And so, my fifth night in Seocheon came to an end.
The next day, I left early in the morning. Goodbye to cute Daebak, goodbye to the 90-year-old grandfather who still cuts grass for his goats, goodbye to the sturdy persimmon tree, goodbye to the little seaside that taught me how to breathe. If a day comes when my heart feels heavy again, I must return. It was a grateful autumn day of rest.
