!!

——————————————————————————

‘I don’t know, Heungmin’, Ahra says, in between chews of tteokbookki.

Ahra responds to all of what Heungmin tells her about his father. Heungmin, who is avoidant of carbs, eats only the fishcake while Ahra eats the ricecake. Ahra has halaboji habits, she eats like her grandpa does, loudly and full of joy.

‘Eat slowly, Ahra…we have lots of time…,’ Heungmin stares at Ahra .

Ahra nods, her mouth full of sauce.

‘…Is this your first time eating ttokbokki?’ Heungmin teases.

Ahra sends a glare, and Heungmin fakes a scared face.

‘Do you know the word yeom?,’ Ahra coughs and wipes her mouth, and her face turns serious.

‘Of course…’ Heungmin smiles, ‘I don’t,’

Ahra rolls her eyes.

‘You’re like a moth. You’re attracted to the yeom that’ll kill you. You have a sort of…Stockholm syndrome’

‘…My dad only wants what’s best for me,’ Heungmin clenches his jaw.

‘What’s best for him, Heungmin-ah. He’s using you to live out his dreams.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘…What do you want? Deep inside.’

‘I don’t know. I want to be great….’ Heungmin hestitates, ‘I want to be loved.’

Heungmin blushes at the last part as he says it.

‘I guess that’s what we all want,’ Ahra comments, bitterly. Heungmin is glad Ahra doesn’t tease him for his moments of vunerability.

‘But you have so much ahead of you. I’m sick with envy that you get to go to Germany.’

‘I’m scared. Everyone will be so much better than me,’

‘The frog in the well knows nothing of the sea…’ Ahra plays with the sauce in at the empty tteokbokki dish, ‘There’s so much to this world, I can’t even fathom how much it is.,’

‘You wanna live abroad?’

‘Of course. Anywhere but home, or as far away from home.’

Heungmin thought about this, before saying, ‘…The first thing Korean people do when they succeed, is leave.’

Heungmin can think of countless entrepreneurs, footballers and atheletes whos patriotism seems to leave out the window once they are successful.

‘I hate that.’ Heungmin says.

‘But understandable,’ Ahra replies, ‘Korea is cruel to those who don’t fit the mold,’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re a man. You aren’t disabled, or poor, or homosexual, or ugly—’

‘You think I’m not ugly?’, Heungmin smiles.

‘Focus!’, Ahra rolls her eyes, ‘The system is stacked in your favour,’

‘You’re a Jeju girl, Ahra’, Heungmin states, ‘Here, the system is stacked in your favour.’

‘Why, because hyenyeos make the most money?’

‘Sure, but also they get to choose the men to marry, and men cook and look after the kids…’

‘That’s not power. Jeju women, like all women, once had a wide variety of dreams. But because of our indigenous population and the Jeju rebellion, our grandmothers never got a chance for education. Of course there’s power with money — but its not a chosen life. Isn’t power the ability to choose?’

‘And escaping Jeju is choosing, for you?’

‘…I don’t want to be tied down to anything. I want freedom of choice.’ Ahra thinks, ‘You know, the boys at our school always make comments about how ‘disgusting’ the Jeju girls are. About how they’re going to go to Seoul and marry a ‘real woman’’

Heungmin knows this, the usual locker room talk. In fact he’s been guilty of this too, dreaming about Seoul girls, with their pale faces and soft skin that haven’t done a day’s work.

‘It’s pathetic but…’, Ahra blushes, ‘I’d like to be a real woman.’

Watching at Ahra, eating in the crude way in which Heungmin would usually despise, Heungmin feels there’s something so real about her. She was tangiable, real and never fake in her relations to her emotions. Watching her vent felt like a breath of fresh air, and she’d talk and talk about things he felt but always found hard to express. It was hard to keep up with her, she was a complicated thinker: but it was always new, and fresh and challenging. When he’d approach her with a question, he would never get answers — but just more questions. He would be more lost than when he started, it seemed, but there was the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone in his worries.

What would Ahra say, if I told her all this? About how pretty her eyes were when she’d glow in the sun. How he’d like to get away somewhere, just the two of them. How, he’d walk painfully slow when walking with home with her, and how when they turned left at the alley and see her house appear, he’d curse this distance and wish she lived much, much further.

But he never did tell her any of this. Instead, they stood up from their tteokbokki stall, and walked walked home as usual, and Heungmin watched Ahra disappear from behind the front door. He lingered at the door, at the space they were both in, not wanting to escape the space of the moment they just shared, before he’d return back to his own world, the world without the narrative of Ahra to guide him.

Ahra fidgets in the hard plastic seat, her eyes locked tightly onto the small orange figure amidst the green space. Her shoes smell of sprite as the floor is soaked in the enthusiastically knocked-over soda bottles.

Heungmin gave Ahra a ticket to the season final of his game, and she profusely refused — but after Ahra lost some bet about the price of ice cream at the local convience store, Heungmin forced her to come. Sitting front row, Ahra soon realises she heavily underestimated the scale of his fandom. She is sat amidst Heungmin’s passionate fans, ranging from teenage girls at her school, to grown men who fish on the bay, wearing Heungmin’s jerseys and holding out placards.

As the game starts, Ahra is caught off guard by the intensity in Heungmin’s eyes, like a hunter tracking down a deer, or a fighter in the colosseum. Ahra remembers reading about the cathartic entertainment practices of the Roman Empire and thinking it so savage; but here, watching Heungmin play, this is what they must have felt in Rome, Ahra thinks.

Whatever happened in Ahra’s life internally of repressed feelings and snuffed-out angers, were nothing of what belonged in Heungmin’s world on the pitch. There was an aggression with every move, and the sight pierced something through her heart, breaking a valve or two, releasing her from all the emotions she has ever felt. He could slow down time when teased and tangoed delicately whilst he dribbled the ball to avoid his opponents. She especially loved when, before shooting, Heungmin posed into the perfectly balanced tilt that he did, and the great force of his body as it recoiled from this thrust. The move reminded her of a slingshot she once made as a kid.

Heungmin scores, and Jeju FC wins their regional competition by 2-0. Heungmin celebrates with ecstasy and is serenaded in testosterone fuelled joy from his teammates. Whilst Ahra was celebrating this, she suddenly felt a twang of pity, about the countless hours of training that led to the fruition of short moments like this. But wasnt this what her reality was too? There was such a kinship to her life, his life…everyone’s life, in this little game.

Watching football was so…fun, and how horrible it was to be proved wrong with happiness. Heungmin proving her wrong was somewhat of a reoccurring theme, and Ahra doesn’t know how to cope with this sudden reversal. She feels unprepared for the journey. Ahra leaves the football stadium, and on her way home, Ahra suddenly feels a pang of hatred for how much she thought about him. Actually, ever since they met, her life has been moving and shaking in that very predictable and common way people talk about teenage romance. Not that it is romance; she vigorously shakes her head when her friends ask her about this word. But maybe she doesn't think so mainly because she feels genuinely sickened every time Heungmin interrupts her thoughts. He consumes the end of her trail of thoughts, and now she finds herself dreaming about the small things, the silly superficial things, that she’d promised she would never think and become. Things like about what other people think, and how she felt a little awkward yesterday, and how maybe she might not pretty enough or good enough for him. Ahra hated herself, and how easily she would give everything up just for his glance, and how foolish was it to be so predictable in love…yes, it must be love, Ahra knows now, ‘petite mort’, she remembers, is orgasm in French but translates to small death. Yes, love is damaging, and love is losing, and it might be dying; she’s seen the death in her mother’s eyes after her father. .. And Ahra feels repulsed by this prospect of total suiciding herself and instead dreams about a love, an alternative one, where maybe they meet not as boy and girl, but, the shore and its wave, crashing and merging with one another, flowing and giving to each other in some perfect unity.

———————————————

——————————————————————————

As a kid, Ahra wondered if she was psychopathic. There was always this distance between the other kids, she could never enjoy the playground games or some slapstick comedy on the TV. When her family moved to Seoul, Ahra would sit in the restaurant, dangling her feet from the chair, waiting for the day they’d touch the floor. With each customer she’d be bombarded by the same recycled version of some nostalgic question, with an attitude that Ahra felt was teasing her. This is the best time of your life… What I’d do to be young again…What do you wanna be when you’re older?… And Ahra would always answer back with some silly and simple answer, all with a toothless smile, but in the back of her mind felt too deeply the act of being a kid. She performed being a child for the adoration of adults, but really, she hated being young. She wanted so desperately to be an adult, so that maybe then her thoughts and words would be taken seriously.

She’d dream about all the things she’d do when she was older: buy a house as far away from her mother was the first. She could live somewhere in Europe, with a cat, and read books in the morning and have dessert at night. Even in her fantasies, Ahra was there was a sharp calculation and precise rhythm. Eunhee always said Ahra was too ‘serious for her own good’ and that she was ‘no fun’, but Ahra knew this was learnt from her. Even during adolescence, when there was a looming expectation that Ahra would grow reckless and defiant: Ahra behaved in the exact same precise and organised way she did when she was little. Even now, she performed the life of a student, as a girl, but always felt there was somewhere else, another room, where the big decisions about her life were being made, where her true self really was. Because the life she lived now, Ahra was always disassociated from, and never enjoyed, at least not fully and not truly.

What was it like to be truly understood?, Ahra often wondered, as she never truly even understood herself. Whatever self there was, there was a multitude of other dimensions of herself that contradicted it entirely.

But since that eventful day, as Ahra and Heungmin walk to and from school together, Ahra would explain her life in simple, clean ways that in which he might understand, and found the narrative of her life slowly piecing together. In the language of his thoughts, Ahra was getting to discover herself.

‘I can probably hold my breath longer than any swimming athlete’, Ahra brags.

‘You think you’d make it in the Marine Corps?’, Heungmin says.

‘I’d probably get military exemption,’

‘Why? Because you’re a “girl”?’, Heungmin emphasises ‘girl’ in a teasing way.

Ahra has heard this cruel prejudice about Jeju girls and hyenyeos not being ‘real women’ ever since she’s was little. But somehow she finds it stings more coming from Heungmin.

‘No,’ Ahra says, matter-of-factly, ‘probably because I’m just too pretty,’

Heungmin quickly looks away, trying not to let Ahra know he’s fighting a laugh.

‘How would that even be a category of exception?’ Heungmin says with a grin, ‘For the aesthetic contributions of the country?’

‘My beauty would be too distracting for the corps to do their duty’ Ahra spits back.

Heungmin scoffs playfully.

‘Maybe I’d get an exemption if I got a gold medal for football…’

‘And what category of exception would that be?’ Ahra seizes the opportunity to tease him, ‘Because you’d be a big liability for the military?’

‘Oh please.’ Heungmin rolls up his sleeves and clenches his muscular bicepts. ‘They’d be lucky to have me,’

His muscles are bigger than she expected, but Ahra quickly makes a frown of disgust at the sight. Ahra feels like she is losing foot in their teasing battle, and quickly switches to her forté.

“And why do you like football?’ Ahra asks, in English.

Heungmin, who leaves to Germany for a football program next year, begged Ahra to teach him English, who obliged under the particular condition that she gets paid in sport drinks.

‘…Oh…’, Heungmin is suddenly taken aback. Ahra smiles at his nervousness.

‘I like it because…’ Heungmin struggles to find the words in English.

‘I don’t know what to say’, Heungmin says, in Korean.

‘Tell me what you’re trying to say in Korean.’ Ahra responds, ‘I’ll translate it for you.’

The cicadas are ringing out. Heungmin is surprised to find he can’t find a reason, even in Korean. How could he explain what it’s like to play football?

‘Well, why do you like studying?’ Heungmin tries to find some common ground for words.

‘I don’t enjoy it, you know,’ Ahra laughs, ‘It’s just something I’m used to doing. It might sound arrogant, but it’s just easy.’

‘You like it because…you’re good at it?’

‘Sure. Isn’t it the same for you?’

‘Not really. I always know I could to do better. My dad and I have a lot of expectations.’

‘Is your dad very strict about it?’

Ahra notices Heungmin flinches a little about the question as his jaw muscles tense.

‘Sorry.’ Ahra adds, ‘We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

There’s an uncomfortable quietness from Heungmin, and Ahra feels terrible she asked.

‘Remember when you said studying is your ticket out of this island?’, Heungmin whispers, ‘There’s no escape for me.’

Ahra understands. While Ahra studies in spite of her mother, Heungmin plays football because of his father — she doesn’t know which is worse.

‘Of course there’s escape.’ Ahra says, matter-of-factly, ‘You can become so big he can’t touch you’.

The promise in Ahra’s words are so hopeful for Heungmin, for a moment believes it. No, he wants to believe it.

‘Yeah? If I do—’ Heungmin smiles about the life he might have, ‘can I come find you?’

‘How will you find me?’, Ahra laughs, as she looks up at him.

Heungmin meets Ahra’s gaze with a sly smile.

‘I just will.’

-----------------------------------------------

The engine whines in a building rhythm, and is sometimes louder than the sound of his father’s voice. Heungmin just stares blankly into road, and is surprised his dad has never gotten a ticket from the wreckless way in which he drives. The car is almost 20 years old, but is still pearl white and squeaky clean. Its’ leather seats fall apart with every touch, until last year when his father fitted vinyl over them. Heungmin can hear the vinyl squeak from the rough movement of the car, and the peeling windows where he is leaning fogs up from the heat of his body.

‘…you should’ve passed left. Left and not right. Why don’t you trust your teammates? You want the glory? Is that it?’

After a game, Heungmin’s dad, Hyunho, coaches him about all the ways in which Heungmin could improve. Hyunho is a ex-footballer, who played for the national Korean team as well as FC Jeju. He was forced to quit after a series of injuries and financial restraints from his family. He took over the hallabong orange farm of his parents after they passed, and works at FC Jeju’s junior coach. There’s an angry wrinkle, deep and creviced in Hyunho’s forehead. It’s so deep, it almost seems there’s a hidden treasure, some black pearl, hidden in there, and as a kid Heungmin remembers running his hands up and down it.

‘Look far, you have to know where the rest of your teammates are. Taewoo was open, signalling to you but you can’t see the big picture. It’s about the big picture…’

When they get home it is almost 8PM, and Heungmin can picture his teammates collapsing into bed. But for Heungmin and Hyunho, if he loses a match they reap the mistakes of the match until midnight. After two or so hours of practicing long distance passes, Hyunho stands in the middle of the farm, with hands on his hips, carefully observing Heungmin do keepie-uppies up around the field. Heungmin does about nine laps, before he starts seeing the ball move in slow motion, and feels nausea building up inside. But he doesn’t rest, he knows if he drops the ball, he knows he has to start all over again. His bloodshot eyes paint the farm red, and the floor seems turns into waves.

‘Put some energy into it, you bastard!’, Hyunho yells.

Heungmin usually holds out, but because of his cold he just can’t sustain his body anymore. The ball slips from the top of his feet, and as he turns his leg to catch it before it hits the floor, he collapses from the weight of this movement.

‘Hey!’, his dad runs towards him.

Heungmin flips his body around, putting his hands on his head for brace. He can feel the burn of the football on his back, as his dad slams it against him.

‘You don’t wanna do it? You wanna give up? You’re gonna give up now?’

‘Appa…I’m sick’, Heungmin says, his face on the ground.

‘Get up,’ His dad kicks Heungmin’s stomach, ‘You wanna be hit more? Get up.’

Heungmin drags himself up, his arms carrying the weight of his legs. There’s a hole in his shoes, and his socks are delicate at the thread as his toe peeks through.

Eventually Heungmin, and his dad, together do 10 more laps— before he finally rushes into the shower. Heungmin looks down at his ribcage to find them completely bruised. When his teammates ask what happened, he always say he fell off the bed. He knows that his friends just pretend to believe, but Heungmin doesn’t yet have the confidence to defend his relationship with his father.

Heungmin was three, when he first told his dad he wanted to be a footballer. At the time, Hyunho didn’t let him, and told him to choose another path. But when he was eight, as Heungmin came home drenched in rain after hours of dribbling, Hyunho finally sat him down.

‘Are you sure?,’ Hyunho asked.

Heungmin felt his heart flutter. Ever since he was young, he’d watch the tapes of his father’s game, back to back, as his father blabbered about what that moment was like.

‘Yes!’, Heungmin said, brightly.

‘…I mean it, Son Heungmin. Are you sure?’, his father’s eyes darkened.

For a moment, Heungmin wanted to say no. Had his father’s eyes always looked like that? He was scared at the graveness in them, concealing some hidden darkness. This conversation was the first time he had truly made eye contact with his father. And the interest and attention from him made Heungmin so excited, that he couldn’t say no.

Maybe this was the start of it, Heungmin thinks. What was once a sport to him, turned into a father-son ritual, performed day and night and became all-consuming. Heungmin started football for the attention and approval from his father, and perhaps it was still like that. But his hopes of growing closer with his father was entirely untrue, and he doesn’t remember the last time they talked about something that wasn’t football related. Football soon became his father, and his father soon became football. He played football like he performed his father, and he could hear his father whispering in his ear about how to play.

Heungmin feels a responsibility to live out his father’s failed dreams. And how could explain this to his friends? How could he explain that when his father humiliates him, it is out of love? And that without that fear, he’d never be this good — and Heungmin would rather be successful, than happy.

Of course, there’s a loneliness. But seeing that timid thumbs up from his father after a goal… he’d do it all over again.

———————————————

Throughout the week, Heungmin replays the moments of that day over and over, and that rage and hatred in her eyes. When Heungmin notices Ahra from afar, smiling with a happiness that showers over her whole body, he wonders if it is the same person. A couple of times, he worked up the courage to approach Ahra at breaktime. And each time, Heungmin watches her smile drop into a cloud of darkness. When Heungmin attempts to make small conversation, Ahra ignores him entirely, or worse, gets up and leaves.

‘Hey, what do you know about Cho Ahra?’, Heungmin asks his friend while walking to school. It is the hottest day of the summer, and Heungmin can feel the sweat under his eyes.

‘Cho Ahra…our year?’ his friend asks.

‘Yeah,’ Heungmin asks, ‘Is she usually…cranky?’

‘No. Where’d you hear that?’ Heungmin’s friend responds, ‘I’ve heard she’s super nice — she’s class president. Top student and all that.’

God, what have I done? Heungmin thinks back to Ahra’s words, ‘How would you feel if someone interfered in your football?’ He knows he’d probably hate them to death if someone sabotaged his game. In fact — he’d do worse than just ignore them.

As they both continue walking, Heungmin recognises Ahra’s figure a few metres in front of him. He notices he way she walks rhythmically, her hands beating along to a song in her headphones. Quickly, Heungmin sprints up to catch up with her.

‘A-Ahra…’ Heungmin pants, as he stands in front of her.

Ahra jumps at the sudden surprise, her hands in fists. He can hear the music of her headphones as he steps closer. Heungmin has never felt nervous in front of girls, but with Ahra it’s different. Maybe the feeling was fear, but the adrenaline in his system makes him stutter.

‘You can hit me if you’d like…’ Heungmin smiles nervously, ‘but please don’t run away’.

Ahra continues walking, this time faster, although it has no use in shaking off Heungmin who looks at ease. Heungmin takes out a cookie from his bag, and holds it out in front of her.

‘Here…it’s my favourite,’ Heungmin smiles nervously.

Ahra starts running.

‘I’ll leave you alone after I see you take a bite,’ Heungmin adds while jogging beside her, his eyes bright and full of expectancy. ‘It’s really good. Promise.’

In the silence as they run, he steals a glance at Ahra, her light brown eyes and plump cheeks. She wears glasses, the thick kind that make her face look tiny and she has chapped lips that have specks of red from picking and biting. And like all the Jeju girls, she has freckles: but Ahra’s are especially concentrated on her cheeks. They remind him of a constellation, and Heungmin wishes he could trace them to join them up.

Ahra soon gets tired of running, as she starts sweating through her shirt.

‘…I don’t like sweet things.’ Ahra says, quietly.

Heungmin perks up at Ahra’s voice.

‘Really?’, Heungmin is estatic that he ilicited a word from her, ‘Next time, I’ll make sure to bring something not sweet. What do you like then?’

Ahra doesn’t speak, and she wonders if Heungmin is teasing her. Heungmin takes the annoyance on Ahra’s face as a cue to leave.

‘All right. Thanks for telling me. I’ll leave you alone now,’ Heungmin starts running away.

After a few metres, he turns towards Ahra, smiling.

‘Bye!’, Heungmin waves cheerfully.

There’s a spring in his step as he runs, and Ahra wonders if he is usually this strange.

————————————————-

Heungmin is the captain Jeju FC as well as his school football team, and he knows, although he’ll never admit it, that he’s better than everyone. As he scores a goal during breaktime, he hears the group of girls erupt into cheers. Like usual, he pretends not to notice, although he steals a look from the corner of his eye. The shine of the cans of sports drinks they hold catches his eye. I don’t like sweet things.

‘Guys, I’m gonna take a quick break,’ Heungmin says to his peers.

‘What?’, his teammates are furious.

‘Yeah…’, Heungmin is runs away and makes his way to the girls, who screech and run towards him as he approaches closer, ‘Good luck guys!’

—————————————-

Ahra places one cheek on her desk to cool herself down. Usually break time is full of laughter, as if the dopamine surpassed in the time studying suddenly erupts— but today, the heat is too hot for conversation. The heat is numbing, and Ahra looks at the reflection of the window on her desk, thinking in heatwaves.

The old Korean people used yeom (炎), meaning fire flower, to describe hot summer days, or passionate patriotism, and even beautiful women. Ahra thinks her feelings of tenderness for her mother, even though they ultimate burn one another. Ahra is comforted at how she is never alone in her emotions, as all the feelings she has ever felt have a language that corresponds. With every word, there is a multitude of people who feel it’s kinship with thier feelings, who use it in conversation and writing that ultimately sustains the word. Fire flower. Yeom is about wanting what ultimately burns you, for the beauty is all the more sacred because of it. She suddenly thinks about Heungmin glistening in the night light, shooting balls into the goalpost, one after another, even though they often missed. What was it like to betray your body, for that one moment of glory? She suddenly feels a pang of regret for shouting at him in that science practical exam. Maybe she should’ve let him have a chance. If she explained it well, he might’ve gotten it right…

There’s a familiar dragging of the classroom door, followed by a bustle of laughter from her peers. Ahra turns around to find a familiar figure hobbling towards her, his big arms enclosing what must be more than thirty cans of drinks. With the help of his chest and chin, he makes sure the cans don’t drop, before steadily squatting at Ahra’s desk to delicately place the cans on her desk. Sports drinks — gatorade, miero, pocari — and Ahra looks up to find Heungmin’s hopeful eyes staring at her, awaiting some reaction.

Heungmin is sweating and panting; the cans were heavier than he expected. Ahra tries to fight a laugh, but can’t surpress the creeping grin on her face. Was it the absurdity of the situation, or Heungmin’s boyish charm that made her smile? She doesn’t know, but she scoffs at him playfully.

‘You’re smiling...right Ahra?’

At Ahra’s laugh, Heungmin feels a small victory. He hopes Ahra would never again frown at his arrival, and the smile on Ahra’s face would last forever.

Ahra and Heungmin both reject the idea of nostalgia: they know better than to linger in the past and instead invest to better the future. Nevertheless, they’d both feel nostalgic for this moment, and even as the moment was happening, they were nostalgic for it. Of course at the time, none of them knew about the yeom to come: the fire that would scorch each to another for the decades to come. And both of them would be shocked if they revealed at how often the other thought of this moment: the first smile, the start of their first summer and the sourness of the heart when young and in love.

—————————————

———————————————

The Jeju volcanic walls are offer little shelter from the wind, which whistles through its porous stones to make a deep, tuneful whistle. Palm trees sway in a rhythmic dance, their rustling leaves exchanging secrets of the summer. This morning, Eunhee and Ahra ate breakfast and they talked about this growing heat, as if nothing happened last night. It is a ritual they have mastered, the mind so quickly adjusts to the feelings and thoughts of a moment, and soon both Eunhee and Ahra forget the events. When she was younger, Ahra used to pray for, not to, a god. She wanted someone some vengeance about what happened behind closed doors. In the absence of witnesses, Eunhee and Ahra are both perpetrator and victim, and there is no one to recall or pray justice to whatever reality was last night.

Today is half-term examinations, the first of this year’s. Ahra’s friends, unlike Ahra, don’t stress out about exam season as they already make a steady income whilst they work as haenyeos. As the timer rings, there’s a rustle and flourish of papers being passed from the front of the class to the back, and the smell of the sweet recycled test paper illicits a bodily reaction for Ahra. She takes a deep breath as she tunes into to this collective silence.

A couple of minutes pass before the silence of the room is rudely broken by the class door sliding open. There’s a giggle from the door, followed by a stern hush from the teacher.

Ahra attempts to swat away this distraction and find back the mind space she was in. Differentiation. Function of y. Apply slope rule. You’re getting slow Ahra…

The figure starts walking, their shoes making an excruciating squeak with every step. The squeak draws closer.

“Ehm,” a voice calls from above, “Can I sit here?”

Ahra is glares up at the figure, visibly annoyed — it’s Heungmin.

Considering he was training until almost 2AM last night, he looks at ease. Close up, Ahra can see his tanned face and freckles from the sun. She doesn’t know if his hair is dyed, or sun-bleached (or both), but curls of brown frame his face delicately. In comparison to the anger she saw in his eyes last night, today he has a soft smile which reaches his warm, puppy eyes. Beneath this smile lies a sense of ease, as if he holds the key to some hidden truth. If there was a word to describe him, she’d use cute. But beneath his face, his broad shoulders paired with his thighs, that are on the verge of bursting out of his uniform, all point otherwise. He was like a baby, grown too fast in comparison to the rest of his body.

Ahra’s bag is on Heungmin’s seat and a delicately curated small library is on his desk. Due to his continuous absence, Ahra didn’t expect him to arrive…ever. Ahra quickly slides all her books and stationary onto her desk, and focuses back on her math paper.

Heungmin sits down, but fights a laugh at the sight of Ahra squirming as she is cramped up in her seat.

‘You can place some of the books on my desk,’ Heungmin leans in and whispers, ‘if you don’t have enough space’,

Ahra doesn’t look up from her paper, but she can hear the smile in his voice. Why won’t this guy buzz off?.

‘I’m fine’, Ahra replies, coldly.

Heungmin raises his eyebrows and purses his lips as if to say ‘okay’.

Focus, focus, focus, Ahra thinks, Find my place. Where did I get up to? Why didn’t I write down my workings? Idiot. Fuck it — let’s just start again. 58, divided by 4, to the power of —

‘Do you have a pencil I can borrow?’, Heungmin asks Ahra, sheepishly.

Ahra gives a sharp glare. She takes out a pencil from her top pocket and rolls it over to Heungmin’s desk.

‘Thanks…’ Heungmin voice slowly dies down, a little scared. Heungmin makes eye contact with one of his friends who looks confused at the sudden sound, and Heungmin shrugs his shoulders in response. His friend bursts out laughing, and Heungmin instinctively bursts out laughing before placing his hand on his mouth, trying to snuffle the laughter. He sees Ahra take deep breaths, in and out, as if to control her a rising anger.

Thankfully, Ahra’s English, Korean, Sociology, History and Science exams go smoothly, minus Heungmin’s constant fidgeting or occasional gaze. After the science paper, there is a practical exam.

‘As you all know — the practical exam is to be done in pairs and you are to share the final results with each other. Your time starts…’ The teacher presses a timer, ‘Now.’

Ahra’s expected her practical exam to be done alone and practiced without a lab partner. Looking over at Heungmin, whose goggles are on too loose and lab coat too small to fit him, Ahra suddenly wishes it was that way.

‘Don’t touch anything. Just stand there.’ Ahra says, while setting up the pipette and titration filter. Ahra studied this experiment like the back of her hand, and she is determined to get the most accurate results in the class. She can’t afford for any extraneous variables, or persons, to contaminate her research.

‘Hey, you really know what you’re doing,’ Heungmin comments, trying to fill the silence. Ahra doesn’t respond, her eyes focused on the bunsen burner.

‘Can I help? Everyone else is doing something…’ Heungmin scratches his head, ‘I’m not all useless, you know’.

‘Move’, Ahra says to Heungmin, who is in the way of the sink.

‘Oh…sure…’ Heungmin moves away sheepishly while Ahra fills the pipette with water.

Almost 30 minutes pass, their time is nearly over. Whilst the other pairs are already finished and sitting down, Ahra and Heungmin’s pair are still working. Ahra is not too phased by the tightness of time — she predicted her experiment take a little longer than others because she’s working alone.

‘Hey— I just need to pour this in here, right?’

To Ahra’s horror, Heungmin is holding the flask with the acid, his hands pointing to the basin.

‘Put it down,’ Ahra panics, ‘There’s a specific way to do it.’

‘What way?’ Heungmin starts swirling the flask’s contents. ‘Looks like everyone else just pours it in.’

‘Stop kidding around,’ Ahra tries to grab the flask from Heungmin, who teases her by holding the flask up higher. Heungmin stares down at Ahra, her face red with fury. She pulls down Heungmin’s arm with all her might, but to Ahra’s defeat, his arm doesn’t budge. Ahra jumps up, but as she comes down her lab coat is dangerously close to the bunsen burner’s fire.

‘Hey— be careful!’, Heungmin pushes the bunsen away from Ahra — but it in turn knocks over the delicate set up that Ahra was working on.

‘Oh…’ Heungmin stares at the shattered glass on the floor, and then at Ahra, who looks pale.

Without a word, Ahra rushes to the front of the class to start the experiment again, while Heungmin stands back, hands behind his back, afraid of getting in Ahra’s way. Ahra is sets up only 1/3 of the experiement, before the timer goes and the practical experiment is over.

Ahra sighs in defeat, and rushes out the classroom.

‘Hey!’, Heungmin quickly follows Ahra out and calls after her.

Ahra starts sprinting at the voice, but to no avail. Heungmin quickly catches up, and starts jogging with ease while facing her.

‘I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?’, Heungmin pleas Ahra.

Ahra is furious, and she keeps her silence as she fights the tears.

‘Ahra?’ Heungmin looks down at her name badge, ‘Ahra — I’m sorry. I crossed a line. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll talk to the teacher about it, say it was all my fault.’

‘How would you feel if someone interfered in your football game, huh?’, Ahra suddenly stops in her tracks, and turns on Heungmin, who flusters at Ahra’s glare.

‘I know you athletes look down on books, but studying…’ Ahra feels the tears swelling up, ‘it’s all I have. It’s my ticket out of this island.’

Heungmin is quiet, taken aback by this moment of sincerity and vulnerability.

‘Everything is a joke to you isn’t it? Just forget it,’ Ahra whispers, ‘Go ruin someone else’s life.’

Ahra walks away, and Heungmin stands still at a loss of words, staring at the ground. Ahra feels a twinge of regret at the last part and its melodrama— but she deliberately chose her words to hurt him. Education is the only path Ahra has to create a future for herself, a future not characterised by her mother and all the hurt that comes with it. The more intolerable the relationship with her mother, the more Ahra is driven to escape her and the life of being a haenyeo.

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Jeju, 2008

‘Ohrai!’

Eunju, Ahra’s mother, pierces the tranquil surface of the water with a shrill whistle. This is the cue, and Ahra and her grandmother, Goeul, plunge beneath the surface. The three generation of women, scour the seabed for sea snails, oysters and, if they’re lucky, abalones.

Eunju, Goeul, and generations before them are all haenyeos: ‘hae’ as in sea, and ‘nyeo’ as in woman — women of the sea. For generations, these divers have been the breadwinners of Jeju households, feeding and educating their children though the sea’s treasures. Eunju’s underwater when her contractions started, and she started to give birth on the boat before the ambulance came. Ahra’s father, a Jeollado man, never understood how haenyeos work while pregnant and tried to stop Eunju from diving. But it was in the water that Eunju finally felt the back pain from her pregnancy disappear, and it was the only place Eunju felt light and free. Ahra’s name, chosen by Goeul, is old Korean for ‘ocean’. Goeul and Eunju both hoped that the ocean would bring as much comfort and kindness to Ahra as it did to them.

Ahra didn’t go to nursery like some of the wealthier Jeju kids— instead Ahra lingered by the shore watching her mother and grandma work. Their communal home was the ocean, and Ahra would watch and wait for the top of their black wetsuits to bob out from the water, making small ringlets in the ocean. After a long day’s catch, her dad and grandpa would cook, and the whole family would gather around the boiling pot filled with seafood. The men would also do the housework, including the cleaning and childcare. This reversal of roles was a shock to Ahra’s father, Sangpil, who’s mother would gasp he even stepped close to the kitchen.

After eight years of this matriarchy, Sangpil felt a need to restore the balance in his life. He declared the whole family move to Seoul to open up a restaurant. Of course, this came as a shock to everyone, and although Goeul disapproved until the end, she let her daughter and granddaughter go whilst handing over 3,000,000 won in cash.

Ahra wonders what would’ve happened if they never left to Seoul and stayed in Jeju. Maybe she’d have a happier life. Or at least one without all those holes.

Seoul was cruel to those who grew up outside of it. Eunju, who had never really cooked, was assigned chef after Sangpil took over managing the front of the house. As the business ruined, so did Eunju and Sangpil’s relationship. While Sangpil was out drinking to “business enhancing meetings”, Eunju was in charge of the restaurant as well as taking care of Ahra.

One day, whilst Eunju was washing the dishes she looked down at her coarse hands, rough and untender from the work her husband demanded her to do. Eunju had never grown up thinking her gender to be a vice, or secondary to a man: the envy of everyone in Jeju were the wealthy haenyeo women. When Eunju and Sangpil got married, it was Eunju who paid a dowry to Sangpil’s family. But here in Seoul, the customers yelled at Eunju and looked to Sangpil as if to speak in justification for her.

It was in Seoul where Eunju lost her tenderness, her humour and light-heartedness. When Sangpil would scream and break plates because Eunju made a mistake, Ahra became the unwitting recipient of her Eunju’s frustrations. Ahra remembers the rush of fear at the smallest of mistakes, like spilling her juice or losing her books, because her mother would start screaming. Eunju never meant to scream, or hit, Ahra. It was always the tipping point, and the rage inside her would burn so bright that often Eunju didn’t remember what happened the next day.

Eunju doesn’t know why she took it as far as she did. Maybe it was the innocence in Ahra’s eyes, that reminded Eunju of the life she once had. Or maybe it was the assurance that whatever she did, Ahra would still call for Eunju.

Eunju would lock herself in the bedroom and, believing it to be her fault, Ahra knelt with her hands above her head and sobbed apology after apology. And when Eunju finally came out of her room, she held Ahra and sobbed on her shoulder for some comfort. In the silence of their tiny apartment complex, the two girls comforted each other, and Ahra knew this was her mother’s way of saying sorry.

The other things, the crueler things, Ahra tries not to think about. Eunju and Sangpil eventually got a divorce, and Eunju and Ahra returned to Jeju, burdened by debt and crushed dreams. The wounds of Seoul ran deep, and the relationship between Ahra and Eunju was never the same. And Eunju was never the same.

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Under the water is where Eunju and Ahra work best. Ahra knows a large part of this reason is because they cannot talk whilst under water, but they always understand each other instinctively. Eunju points to where to look, and Ahra can hold her breath long enough to pick them all up.

Ahra collects a few more sea snails, and she turns to touch the sea floor. She jumps up, only to be dragged back down suddenly. Ahra looks down at her leg to find it intertwined in fishing string. Those damned fishers. Ahra can slowly feel her breath running out, and her heart starts to beats faster. She kicks and twists but the string is in a deep knot and her foot is entangled in it entirely. It has now been over two minutes underwater, and Ahra’s vision starts to blur.

I can’t die like this. I just can’t.

Thinking fast, she grabs an abalone and uses the edge to cut herself loose.

The taut string comes loose, and Ahra springs up to the surface. She jumps so fast her goggles come off, all she can feel is the relief of air which feels sweeter than ever. She barely has the energy to push herself up onto the boat, and she collapses flat onto the floor. Ahra tries to control her breath but the attempt makes it worse as she starts to hyperventilate, and eventually throw up. Her vomit is half sea water. Ahra can feel the salt burning on her eyes.

“Oh, my baby…”, Goeul pats Ahra on her back, “I knew it wasn’t a good idea for you to come. Let it all out, my darli-”

“Where’s the abalone?”, Eunju inspects the net Ahra collected.

“She almost died down there, Eunju. That’s no such thing to say,” Goeul replies, sternly.

“This is the reality of our job, Eomma. This is a learning opportunity for Ahra, if anything.”

“Our Ahra is going to go to Seoul National University. Don’t drag her down to us hyenyeos.”

Eunju scoffs, “SNU my ass…”

Ahra knows not to respond, let alone show a discouraged expression. Ahra can’t handle the force of her mother, let alone win. When Eunju explodes, it is like Seoul all over again. Ahra endures the moment just like she holds her breath under the water. ‘This will all just pass’, is what her Grandpa once said to Ahra when she ran away from home. Years later, Ahra would say this exact same thing to herself: in heartbreak, whilst studying, in depression, during sex… Ahra has learnt to swallow all her emotions until her body can’t take it, and she must come up for water. It hasn’t happened yet.

When they all come home, her grandpa cooks mehuntang, a spicy seafood stew. Ahra sits around the table, her rice bowl stacked with the boneless fish parts her grandparents picked out for her.

“Here…,” Eunju picks out the eyes of the fish and hands it to Ahra. Ever since Ahra was young, it was her favourite part.

“Thanks,” Ahra says, avoiding eye contact.

“Are you still upset?” Eunju says, annoyed.

Grandpa’s hand grabs and tightly squeezes Ahra’s, as if to stop Ahra from responding. This will all just pass.

Ahra clenches her fist, and feels her fingernails digging into her palms.

“You’re ruining the atmosphere at dinner. I can barely swallow, you know.”

Nobody speaks, and instead focuses on the dinner. They all feel a storm brewing. The family know Eunju’s sales are going down. Last year, Mulmuone, a seafood distribution company, built a base on the east coast of Jeju. Mulmoune divers use carbon dioxide tanks and their products are much plentiful and cheaper, making it difficult for Eunju’s catch to sell. Last week, Eunju found the east coast’s ecosystem completely destroyed. Haenyeos never use carbon dioxide tanks and rely solely on their breath for freediving— it’s a generational oath to the ocean to never take out of greed and help protect the ecosystem of the sea. Ahra is furious that she has to deal with the reparations of the actions of some seafood company. But she just holds her breath.

“Do you have to make it that big of a deal to go diving with us? You would’t even be going to school if it wasn’t for the money we make from it,” Eunju continues, “It’s my fault for making you so spoilt. You can dream of SNU all you’d like — I won’t have the money to send you anyway.”

Ahra finishes her food and stands up from the table to place her bowl in the sink. Eunju stands up and pushes Ahra’s shoulder.

“Did you hear what I fucking said? Are you ignoring me? Are you looking down on me?”

Ahra sprints to her room and locks the door.

Eunju screeches, a high coarse scream. Eunju bangs against the door.

“Open this door!,” Eunju loses all sense of her surroundings, “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.”

Ahra sits at her desk and puts her headphones on, and acts as if she is studying, although nobody is watching. Her body shakes and she feels numb, as if her mind left her body. She clenches her fist harder, until her fingernail draws blood from her palms. The sight of red blood brings relief and Ahra can finally feel and move her body again. Through the music through her headphones, she can hear Goeul crying and pulling Eunju away from the door. When the shouting settles, Ahra quickly packs her stuff and opens her door.

‘Cho Ahra!’ Eunju yells, but it is too late. Ahra dashes out the front door.

After a couple of minutes running, Ahra finally reaches the library. The library is on Jeju University campus, and it is the only library open 24 hours a day. Non-university students aren’t usually allowed in, but last year Ahra took part in an investigative research program and asked the professor for a library pass in return. In comparison to the loudness of her house, the silence of the library comforts her. Austen, Brontë, Carroll… Ahra traces the finger down the spines of the novels whilst strolling down the library aisles. So many books to read, and so little time. Once she finishes this lap around the library, she feels a little calmer.

She sits at a small singular desk, on the top floor and opens up her books before interrupted by the sound of a goalpost followed by some shouting. Ahra squints and checks the time: it is 12AM. At first, she thinks the university athletes have started drinking on the pitch again, before looking to realise it is her class partner, Son Heungmin. Him and another man are shooting balls into the net, one after another, without rest. She can tell Heungmin is tired, he glistens all over from sweat in the light. Ahra and Heungmin both go to the same high school. Although his designated seat in class has been next to hers, they have never met as Heungmin always goes to football training. Truthfully, she enjoys his absence as it means more space to place her books and other stationaries. She also knows him like how the rest of the school knows him: because he is insanely popular, with the girls particularly. There is always a crowd of girls, giggling and blocking Ahra’s path to her science class, watching him play. Each one of them hold sweets and sports drinks in hopes Heungmin will accept them. This crowd of girls always sell out Ahra’s favourite drink, pocari, and although not his fault, this was the start of her dislike of Heungmin. Ahra generally had a disscontempt for sports days, where Heungmin held the spotlight. Ahra would rather spend the time studying.

But seeing Heungmin sweat, shooting goal after goal relentlessly, made Ahra change her mind. There was something about the way he moved, like a dance, that was so hypnotic to her. The determination and fierceness in his eyes, and the aggression with which he moved. Me and you both, Heungmin. She watched him play for a little longer like this, before she studied the night away.

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Seoul, 2024

As the gritty asphalt hits 50 degrees, Ahra cools herself down by picturing the cold Jeju ocean. As a child, Ahra remembers staring at the sea for what felt like years. Once the eyes adjust to that blue desert, it starts to feel like one body, the waves dancing and fighting against the strong winds. Ahra reflects on the last time when she felt this tangibility of time. Nowadays, it slips through her fingers like sand.

The vision of the ocean holds a special place in Ahra’s memories, perhaps her earliest. The endless ebb and flow, ruthless and impersonal, plays out repeatedly in her dreams. Its constancy identify with a truth about the way Ahra lives now — floating from place to place, churning and stirring, only to be spat right back out to the very same place it started. They say all water has a perfect memory: the first plant, dinosaurs, and the newborn child are all fuelled by the very same water particles, particles that follow life from start to end. But all this, just to come home, back to the big body that is the ocean. Here, all the life that happened because of water, and all the sentiments contained inside its particles, can meet and exchange their stories. Stories about life. Love. Loss. Death. The first human, or the first snow. And here, the water realises a truth about its journey — that the ocean is carried by the swiftness of its own moving, and the ocean is just water experiencing itself. This is how Ahra knows her life to be: she is life experiencing itself, just trying to do her best amidst it all.

At nine o’clock, Ahra would’ve been sat at her desk at work, had she not been fired the day before. The humiliation still stings, a reminder of the compromises she had made for validation. Ever since her high school days, she started to compromise what she truly wanted for what was socially desirable. It started with the little things, buying the black flats instead of the red ones, hanging out with the more popular friends. But the scale of this compromise got slowly bigger: she choose law and not linguistics, interned rather than travel, let boyfriends walk all over her. With every decision, she chipped away at her dreams, inch by inch, and suddenly found herself lost of any real enjoyment in her life. Ahra remembers the word for enjoyment, heung-mi 흥미 (興味), comes from the joyful ‘heung’ and tasting ‘mi’, and it was exactly this: she has lost the taste buds for joy.

What Ahra needed was an entire reset, something to regain this taste for life. For too long her body has been frozen within the ice of its own blood, in the grip of conformity — and Ahra begins to thaw as clarity washes over her for the first time in years. She knows exactly what to do, and where to go. Back to the place she swore she’d never go, to the place she last felt the strength of emotion. Back to Jeju.

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England, 2024

The roar of the crowd fills the air, shaking the very ground beneath London's streets as the city pulsates with energy.

"It's unbelievable! A sensation for the ages!" the commentator exclaims, his voice drowned out by the collective cheers. "Son Heungmin has done it again."

Heungmin glides across the grass and looks up at the sea of fans before him, cheering and screaming his name. His teammates are clashing and rubbing their bodies against him, and his heart beats so fast he thinks he might pass out, but Heungmin doesn’t feel anything. Instead there’s a fleeting sense of calm, and the accolades and adoration all blend into a numbing blur, and he lets himself be drowned in the flashing cameras and fervent fans

Heungmin arrives home, a clean and minimalist flat, much too big for one. Sometimes, he has nightmares that all his possessions are too big for him, and he loses a match because he keeps tripping over his big clothes. Or sometimes there are nightmares about a singular tiny buttercup flower on a football pitch, that is soon crushed by a big crate. The flower dream he has on a regular basis, but he is heartbroken by its destruction every time. Heungmin stands at the entrance of the door, sighing into the empty and dark silence. The void of silence wakes Heungmin up from the bustle of the football pitch. Beneath the surface of his success, a familiar emptiness looms. The same anxiety that drives him to greatness now threatens to consume him, whispering doubts of his own worth. Today’s goal was your last. You’ll never be as good as today. Your golden days are over now. This void feels like home, and like his father, and bigger and realer than any other emotion he’s felt that suddenly Heungmin believes he’ll never be happy again. A great proportion of his life is spent in this tenseness, an anxiety that coils with every weight he lifts and every ball he kicks at practice. His anxiety is a spring that is finally released at the few minutes of relief of when he scores in a match.

A few years back, amidst the orange trees, Heungmin asked his father for permission to quit football altogether. Foolishly, with every orange after orange picked, Heungmin hoped his dad would finally answer. He never did. But he remembers his father’s coarse hands and tanned skin, a sign of malehood he shares with him now. What would his dad say about his goal today? Did he hate it? Was it too sloppy? Did he act too cocky?

Tomorrow, he flies back to Korea to complete a section of his mandatory military service, and he’ll see his dad for the first time in years. Heungmin is only doing two weeks of service, but it is the first time in decades in which his schedule won’t be centred around football. He makes a vow to himself that the time won’t weaken him to think about quitting again.

As he sifts through his conscription letter, one word leaps off the page, stirring something deep within him.

Jeju.

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