Once more to the island
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By Lee Eung-tae
One spring, I think in 1984, I went camping on a small island near Yeosu, South Jeolla Province with a couple of my high school alumni.
This excursion was more than exciting because female students accompanied us. Imagine how thrilling it would be for a college freshman to go camping with girls for the first time in his life! Though it is not such a big deal for today’s collegians, back then it was more than “a dream come true.”
On board the ferry, we were blinded by the glittering light reflected from the seawater. Excited by the camping itself and mesmerized as we passed rocks transformed by the waves over the years into strange shapes, we talked and laughed loudly.
One of the girls screamed when a seagull snatched away her snack. Instantly, we all held our snacks tightly and watched the exciting sight of birds performing aerial stunts. Actually, it was my first experience of communicating with wild animals. After pitching tents on the beach, we walked around the island along a small mountain trail, laughing and kidding with each other.
Many years have passed. We now have children who are past freshman age. Sadly, we are so obsessed by our own jobs that we became strangers. But, sometimes there are days when I think of the seagulls and the bamboo groves near the trail and wish to turn the clock back.
A few days ago, this desire became so intense that I asked my wife to go there with me. After teasing me for being immature, she gladly assented. On the journey to the island, I wondered what it would be like. I wondered if the years had ruined my sacred place.
There were preparations to construct a bridge to reach the island. Outside of that, nothing seemed to have changed. A few seagulls followed our ferry, and we fed biscuits to them. While enjoying the play of the feeding birds, I felt poignantly that the convenient bridge will make us spiritually desolate since we’ll lose the joy of communion with wild animals.
On the beach, we took off our socks and waded into the sea water. The chilly water and tender sand ran through my toes. I screwed my eyes against the glittering sunlight reflected on the ripples. While gazing over the endlessly placid ocean, I thought of myself in my 20s.
How did being young me feel then? How did the naïve boy respond to the refreshing smell of salty water? How exhilarated did I feel at this bracing air blowing from the distant ocean? Did I have the same excitement at “a rainbow shell that paddles in a halcyon sea” felt by Christina Rossetti?
On the path rounding the island, I couldn’t stop being aware of conflicting identities in me. Walking through the dark tunnel of a bamboo grove, my wife and I became the boy and girl that we once were. Once I allowed my mind to go back to the past, I could easily untie the magic parcel. I remembered one thing, and that suddenly released a chain of memories.
I found myself teasing my wife just as I did back then. Walking down the pathway, I was surprised to see a bull and a calf lying in a deserted farm house: exactly the same sight that I saw thirty years ago. And, for a second, I was caught in a fantasy that Nature had waited for me to return.
Gazing at the reddish sun on the dark seawater, I told my wife that I wished to live on this island after retirement.
The writer is an English teacher at Gimhae Girls' High School in South Gyeongsang Province. His email address is eungtae@gmail.com.