The View After Setting Down My Backpack
I told my two friends to meet me at Exit 3 of Hongdae Station—without even knowing where that exit led. I hadn’t decided on a place, and the only number that floated into my mind was 3.
Rushing out of the exit, I was greeted by an unwelcome rain—an early evening drizzle on a late summer Saturday—that began to torment my glasses. And when my glasses suffer, so do I.
Wandering aimlessly in search of a place to settle, I finally found it: a small craft beer bar with a terrace, where travelers sat watching the world go by.
Beside their chairs were backpacks, resting for a while—each one heavy with the burdens of life.
Like them, I too took a seat in one corner of the second-floor terrace. There I watched the pink sky—so much like my own heart—above a row of quietly glowing storefronts, trees that stood tall without stealing the spotlight, golden lights scattered like brushstrokes, and cars and people weaving through it all.
A street scene, just right in every way—just red enough, just veiled enough, just bright enough, just crowded enough.
And in that moment, for the first time in a long while, I set down my own backpack too, and sat there with an open heart.
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