골목길

These kinds of alleys were very familiar to me.  In the neighborhood where I grew up, like most residences, my home was really in an indescribable location.  Street numbers meant nothing in a neighborhood assembled upon a hillside, fed by the arboreal arteries that were these alleyways.  How do you get to my house?  The question I had was, "How do you not get there?" It seemed all the million paths I knew all eventually led to my house.

I never really took the school bus as I got older.  I took public transportation, and to get to the nearest subway stop, I'd walk for twenty five minutes down and up this small mountain, navigating these tiny streets and making seemingly arbitrary turns to get to them - I have one story for each one of those tiny streets, explaining how I discovered the secret destinations those alleys held.  I came home past 8pm everyday - these ugly paths hidden between houses, themselves hidden by others, illuminated by the yellow light of lampposts, littered with cigarette butts and uneven bumps, these became an avenue of solace for me.  I was sheltered by the walls around me, comforted by my ability to disappear forever in the heart of a sprawling metropolis to appear whenever I wanted.

When people are feeling home-sick, are in a strange and cold environment, they know they want to go home.  For me, these alleys mean home - "which one of these don't eventually lead me home?"






미국으로 이사온후로, 서울이 많이 그리웠다.  하지만, 자신에게도 의외였지많서도, 내가 제일 보고싶어했던것은 골목길이였다.  어느 겨울밤, 난 또 서울의 골목길을 다시 걷고싶다 - 어렸을떼 느껴젔던 위안을, 이렇게 바빠지고 다 자란 나는 다시 알고싶다.