kairosclerosis

@hsjihan

the radio is tuned into some local broadcast. catching it just before they play a song. and as the music takes up the entire room, jiseong is swept by the yearning woven into the message, drawn in by the lovely voice. and suddenly he’s wide awake, trying to catch the singer and the title of the song.

and for the next few days, the song loops. constantly drawn back to it until jiseong is able to hum it under his breath.

he’s not much of a writer. it’s not what he’s good at. but this warrants a thank you at the very least, he decides.

hello, this is my first time writing something like this so forgive me if i didn’t start it right.

the other day you were playing map of dreams by kim sawol. i loved it so much i’ve been putting it on repeat! silly i know but her voice is so clear it pierced something in me. so thank you for introducing it on your show.

but it also brought up a lot of things for me. it’s shameful to say but at 25, i still haven’t experienced the kind of love songs depict. i’ve been in relationships but they just haven’t brought about the kind of yearning she illustrates.

i guess i was just wondering if there are others like me. or like maybe i have experienced it but just didn’t know that i have? i just... has someone out there felt the way about a person the way the song describes? and if so what is it like? or how do you know that this is it?

from: trying to find the road that no maps can mark

@daewonhs

in biology, jiseong learned that the human body was made of seventy percent water. in a class he dozed off in, he was told that the earth’s surface was covered by seventy percent water. in darkrooms, he prepared gallons and gallons of non-hardening fixers with seventy percent water.

water is just one of those things that is constantly there.

captivated jiseong as a little kid in the tub as he splashed around and wound up his favorite little boat. watched it speed across the length of it before a puttering stop. trying to catch the ripples it left behind but they would disappear once his hand came in contact with the surface.

or the jacuzzi bubbles that would elicit a giggle from young jiseong, trying to twist out of the stream that tickled him. or swimming on those frightfully hot days where he would hold his breath and try to appreciate the world underwater — only to lose quickly when his dad did the same and made faces. the large pockets of air that would rise to the surface as jiseong laughed.

mesmerized jiseong. tried to capture it in photographs — the way the lazy ocean hugs the shore — but unable to ever bring it any justice and spend hours with toes dug into sand, trying petrify the peace of rolling waves. witnessed the way it influenced others. aunt’s work with an ocean motif twelve summers ago — the exhibit that introduced her to her wife.

and here, before him, is that same jeju water that made up his summers. a seemingly insignificant backdrop but as the waves return and wash over jiseong’s feet, he realizes, like water, there are too many things in life he has taken for granted.

( maybe he should call his aunt. it’s been far too long.  maybe he should finally agree to attend that high school reunion.  maybe... )

jiseong turns around, about to head back, when he spots a familiar figure.

and like the waves lapping at his ankles, the memories come rushing in.

2am drunken confessions where you bare your soul and someone accepts you in that raw form. where you don’t have to pretend and say or do the right things to have friends. where you learn that it is more than okay to be yourself. that your options aren’t limited. hell, the world is yours to have if you are willing to take it. where you learn what hangovers mean and practice until you can outdrink your collegemates easily in two years time.

it’s someone you haven’t thought about in a while but couldn’t be happier to see.

jiseong makes his way towards the man appreciating the sprawl of ocean before him, knowing full well he’s probably obstructing the view. when he knows he can be heard, he recites from the final episode of the good place:

“picture a wave. in the ocean. you can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. and it's there. and you can see it, you know what it is. it's a wave.”

jiseong smiles as he drops down next to the man, staring straight ahead at the way the sky meets the water.

“and then it crashes in the shore and it's gone. but the water is still there.” jiseong turns to hold his gaze. “the wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while.”

“it sounds sad, doesn’t it?” jiseong continues, drawing his knees to his chest, propping his chin on top. “but its how sand is made and sea glass. the efforts of infinite waves. doesn’t jeju remind of you that, daewon hyung?” jiseong asks in lieu of how have you been? or it’s nice to see you again. because it has been far too long since this name has rolled off his tongue. and there’s a connectedness and a sense of belonging he still can’t shake.

at his first response, charoen thinks maybe somewhere in her word spillage she had offended. but suddenly, he’s springing up and now he’s the one guiding her. into really seeing what she had failed to see the entire trek up sunrise peak — the sight behind her.

no matter the sights she has seen or the sights she’s bound to see, the blonde will have the same reaction: a few beats of awe and then her mouth parts just slightly. as if that extra bit of oxygen is necessary to comprehend the image. concluded with a smile, that sort of elation that’s on a level of its own.

“huh, you make a good point. guess i gotta remember to LITERALLY turn around sometimes to enjoy the view.” the same could be said for her life but she tries not to dwell on that.

as he steps back, she turns her smile towards him, oblivious to what sort of space strangers should have. probably why some of her neighbours in her homeland thought her odd, not completely adhering to all the customs. “hi, kang jiseong! my name’s rien charoen.” shaking his hand, she’s already onto her next thought, answering, “yeah, i miss taking pictures, i guess. i think i miss the appearance of having a camera, y’know? like, the polaroid camera i had was antique — probably why it broke so easily. oh! and waiting for the polaroid to develop. you gotta do a little flappy-flap and watch it appear before you like a MIRAGE.” and she’s rambling. must be the air.

reeling herself in, she adjusts the sunglasses perched on her nose and thumbs her knapsack strap. “so you do this for a living? must be really good. got a website i can look up or profile i can follow? i wanna see what else i’ve been missing all this time!”

the corner of jiseong’s lips curl into a smile as she follows his guidance, mouth parting in what he hopes is the same awe that thrums through his veins. some things never fail to leave one breathless. ( gaping caverns and tall heights offer a different type of excitement — the sort where all the cells of your body protest imminent death, spiking adrenaline, urging you to flee. ) landscapes that almost makes jiseong question the existence of a higher power. sceneries he wishes he can carry around with him for the rest of his life.

“isn’t that the point of a hike?” he jokes, “less destination, more journey or however that famous quote goes.”

jiseong is glad. glad she doesn’t find him odd. or too wary of him. seemingly happy to engage in a conversation so he relaxes. allows his camera to leave his hands and hang in front of his chest. repeating her name in his head so he doesn’t seem rude later on. he’s always been a better facial recognizer than a name recaller but that’s beside the point.

he laughs at the way she describes a polaroid, knowing too well that sense of magic that is so captivating about the development of photography. the days he spent in darkrooms, inhaling chemicals, bathed in a sole red light just to watch his pictures slowly develop.

“you would love processing photographic film then,” jiseong comments. “you know, the old cameras that have that roll in them you would send off to get washed. and they would come back in like a pack or envelope.”

he taps his chin. “but it would take much longer than a polaroid.” followed by a sigh: “too bad i don’t have one set up, otherwise i would invite you to see how it works.”

wait did he really just invite a stranger— no. new acquaintance to an imaginary darkroom? really doing well on the maximum creepiness level here.

“no i just...” jiseong rubs the nape of his neck out of habit, trying to cover up his blunder, “if i had a dark room. you seem like you would be interested in seeing the full process.” and nods to reaffirm: “yeah, i do this for a living. it’s why i get carried away. honestly not that impressive. just a dime a dozen yearning photographer.”

“i do have a professional portfolio. but the instagram is probably more honest,” he chuckles.

“what about you?” he leaves it open. hanging. swallowed up too much time by rambling about himself and curious about the girl before him. it feels imbalanced. and not everyone would be so courageous to just talk to another individual.

there are moments in life you just can’t forget.

the first time your hands hold a camera between them, accompanied by the distinct sound of a shutter snapping shut. the first time you scoop snow into your bare hands, ignoring the way your skin turns bright red and stings for release. the first time you taste hot chocolate and understand why it’s so often depicted in those western films noona loves. the first time you stumble across a blog that connects all your dots in life — tying your love of photography and travel to purpose. the first time you witness reine during the hour where everything is swathed in blue: lights turned on and reflected upon the water, rooftops dusted by snow, the sort of picturesque scene often depicted on post cards.

these moments you hold onto, cherish them so that you will never forget.

@hsheeyeon​

jiseong listens to the soft tinkle of the bell overhead as he opens the door. habits die hard and he bows slightly as he steps through, but not before pausing to inhale a deep breath. it reminds him of cobblestone paths, dewy mornings, and bicycle rides. there was a bakery tucked in the corner, along the road where he lived, that was a staple of his study abroad experience. weekly changes in bread of the day for adventurous souls, the usual assortment for all the creatures of habit. the aroma of coffee mingling with that of bread as people pop in after their morning coffee runs. the croissants filled with chocolate that burst forth on his tongue without scalding him — unlike the sad excuse reheated ones are.

jiseong once read somewhere that smell, unlike the five senses, directly gets encoded into memory. and freshly baked bread hits him with a sense of nostalgia and longing that leaves him breathless.

he takes his time. winding through the selection, taking a long look at each one, before finally settling on three. and almost collides into one of the shop keepers who is trying to replenish the depleted stock of bread.

jiseong does a double take at the side profile of the woman restocking merchandise. he can’t be wrong. despite never meeting her in person, he knows deep down that he’s right. that this person before him is the one with words so powerful it shaped his connection to reine. unintentionally helped him find purpose in his life ( and thus his career ). the individual he pooled together all his photos for — both the good and the bad — in drives attached to long emails exchanged at random hours of the day.

( he’s stared at the profile picture on her travel blog for far too long. )

if this was some drama he might have dropped his tray of bread and all the patrons of the bakery would have paused at the clatter it made. except this isn’t a drama and that would be a terrible waste of bread.

so jiseong clutches the tray tight and says: “you’re heeyeon noona right?”

@hsjihae​

jiseong focuses his lenses on the seagulls that traipse upon the sand. they aren’t as terrifying as their brethren that dot the australian coast line ( jiseong learned that early on when his burger was torn from his hand before he even had a bite ) but he still remains cautious. scanning this strip of beach for something interesting. anything interesting. not a child running too fast and tripping and crying interesting. more of a this photograph and its composition will win me awards in a magazine type interesting.

he sighs internally as he zooms in on yet another drawn in the sand confession — complete with a huge ass heart. what happened to good old sand sculptures and sand castles. if you want to declare your love, might as well put some time and effort into it.

jiseong sweeps his camera and it lands on someone less than a meter behind him. quickly lowers his camera so it doesn’t seem like he’s creepily taking pictures of her and returns to the beach view.

a few minutes later, he turns around.

she’s still there.

staring intently(?) at him.

jiseong looks down at his clothes. is pairing a diving long sleeved shirt with a pair of shorts that offensive? he takes another peek at her again.

yup. still there. still staring.

or are his flip flops broken somehow? nope.

she’s still looking in this direction.

maybe he’s blocking her view?

so he follows her line of gaze and well...

he pulls the front of his shirt and takes a small whiff. concerned that the mixture of sun and ocean water has caused some putrid reaction.

well it ain’t great but it also shouldn’t affect anyone beyond five centimeters or less.

okay, jiseong, he tells himself ( because holding conversations in your head is a very normal thing to do ), you could just walk out of her line of sight.

but here’s the thing: curiosity killed the cat. and although jiseong may not be a cat, he still has an unhealthy dose of curiosity from his love of human stories. so he turns around and makes a list of things he could say:

‘ am i in your way? ’ but like more polite, gentleman manner in that after you, holding the door, chivalry isn’t dead ( yet )

‘ do i have something on me? ’ but less accusatory. genuine concern about presentation etc.

‘ nice day isn’t it? ’ wait that makes you sound like a creep waiting for a chance to strike up a conversation

‘ are you checking me out? ’ in a joking tone because who the fuck would when you’re dressed like this.

jiseong flashes a smile and says: “are you checking me out?”

the waves crash against the jagged edges of the cliff — a small cry before they return to the fabric of their existence. it’s funny how you never get tired of this sight. that no matter where you visit, the lull of the waves speaks home into existence. brings you back to this coast line in particular. reminding you of the awe that swelled up in your five year old frame.

and now that you are here it feels a little bit like home but also a bit too foreign.

what used to be looming structures feel a lot smaller. the old houses symbolic of jeju-do have been replaced with more modernized looks. large windows taking over most of the wall to soak in more of the scenery.

it doesn’t feel right. it’s not what you’ve been looking for.

you lower your camera. too lazy to flip through the photographs you’ve just taken. you know you’ve taken dozens from the same angle and none of them will capture the way the water sparkles.

you look at the other members of this tour group trudging ahead, the looks on their faces matching the way you felt all those years ago.

this may be wrong. might have been a waste of your day to sign up for this guided tour that only touches popular tour locations but its a start.

so you let your camera hang around your neck like an accessory for the rest of the day as you fall in line with the rest of the wide eyed folk.

@hseunho

it doesn’t stop you from approaching that man you saw on the way into the bed and breakfast after ditching the tour early. ( the one with the broad shoulders, handsome smile, and a way with animals. )

“hey,” hating how you sound. sheepish, shy. you’re not like this at all so you lean against the counter for support. “the guided tour was a little lacking...” you start, hoping it doesn’t offend, “i was wondering if you knew anyone who was willing to do one-one-one tours.” ugh, how is this easier in english or charades. you blame the years abroad.

the trumpet vine has spread from its original spot and now winds itself around the stone entrance. in summer, the sun will catch the vibrant red and the green will be speckled by crimson. your camera will be ready then for the way trumpet creepers contrast against the endless blue sky.

you clasp your hands together and bow your head in the direction of the plant’s origin. underneath the soil lies the remains of your aunt’s beloved standard poodle. the one you used to try to ride as a child. the one that was too tall so it was so hard to wrap your small arms around it to give it a hug. a smile forms on your face as you think of the summers you spent here each year.

the way your aunt seems to always be looking forward to your arrival: welcoming her sister with a loving embrace, handing her brother-in-law a firm shake, gifting your noona a newly handcrafted handbag made from scrap bojagi, and sending diablo after you. mostly named for his behavior when aunt first bought him as a puppy. but you swear it is because of the way he looks in photographs: a pair of red eyes in pitch darkness. you called him daebak though. his true name a bit too hard for your tongue and the way he made you feel — now that’s just self explanatory.

he topples you over with enthusiastic licks and you laugh.

you swear you can still hear his bark in this empty yard.

you are too old for this but you can’t help but wonder if he’s been lonely for the past decade. aunt sold this place shortly after diablo’s death. ( old age for a dog still feels too short. ) said she lost her motivation and the art of bojagi could be continued elsewhere. but you know better.

you crouch, fingers brushing against the leaves, and whisper a short apology. once aunt moved out, you haven’t returned to jeju since. and judging from how easy it was to rent this place, you assume the owners only visit this place as a vacation home. pity, you think. this is a beautiful place to live.

it’s hard not to get a tiny bit upset when aunt’s old workshop has been converted to another bedroom. or how instead of yo, every room now has a western bed. a rather new dining room table instead of soban.

maybe renting this place for the next six months was a bad idea. can’t help but reminisce the way your entire family would gather for dinner, crowded around the low table, trying to sample all the local side dishes. or how the only time you and your sister could sleep between your parents and feel like a family was under this roof.

you rise and dust off your jeans. heft the bag that holds your camera. give the vines one last look before you set off towards civilization.

you have spent the entirety of the past week unpacking. visited some local places. chatted up some shopkeepers and yet ironically still feel lost. you’re used to traveling to places where you don’t speak the language. but you’ve had help whether that be a tour guide you hired or how you combed through travel blogs for obscure locations. but here… here… the familiarity has stunted you somehow. kept you within the walls of your own residence, filling your camera with stones, trees, and the ever changing sky.

the shopkeeper two blocks away told you about a bed and breakfast on tuesday. said it was perfect for travelers like you. you study her sun loved face and wonder what it will take for her to mistake you for a local. no one ever took you for one in europe even when you lived like one. will six months be enough?

you thank her. but it still took you a couple days to come around.

a dog barks as it comes to greet you. you hold your hand out for it to assess you. eyes trailing it as it runs back to a man crouched near the entrance, back broad and a smile so reassuring that you don’t feel out of place as you step into the bed and breakfast. you can’t help but wonder if he is a guest or the owner.