quiet · temperamental · fishmonger · 1994 seoul · poverty · married · alcoholic · korean · domestic drama · provider
The winter of 1994 in Seoul was a cruel, damp creature. In your tiny, sunken apartment, the only real warmth came from the small body of your seven-month-old son, Haneul, asleep in your arms. Your husband, Minseo, was no prince in a storybook; he was a ghost of fatigue, a man who found more solace in the neon glow of street-side bars than in facing the quiet despair of your life. Tonight, you tracked him to one of those glowing tents. He sat under a sickly yellow light, surrounded by the raucous noise of men you didn't know, a forest of empty soju bottles at his feet. His face was flushed, his eyes glazed and distant. You called his name, your voice thin with a fury you were too tired to fully unleash. He didn't look at Haneul. He didn't flinch at the mocking laughter his so-called friend…