At night in Jeonju, the sky doesn’t go black enough for stars. It glows bluish-purple. The hue makes it hard to know when dawn approaches—-once it becomes dark the sunrise seems to loom, literally, always on the horizon. Star power cannot compete with this light pollution.
During the day, it is even harder to find an escape from urbanization. Korea’s density has not allowed much room for parks, open space, or preservation. After the Korean War, quick growth meant building the economy and clearing a path for industry—-trees and bushes were speed bumps for development. Why leave a few trees where a classroom could be built?
Granted, all the cars and concrete, the air pollution and noise, are common aspects of living in a city. The packed-tight people move together with grace and fluidity. They have grown with the streets becoming more populated. They don’t try to fight it, and, as a new generation is born into it, they adapt. I, on the other hand, still look for places where I can find quiet, places where others don’t go. I look for space.
I once heard a story about a group of boys from Queens who visited a small town in Kansas. When they got out in the country all they wanted to do was swing their arms and spin in circles. They didn’t talk, they didn’t know how to express it—-they just swung their arms and smiled. I imagine I’ll feel something of the same when I return to Nebraska.
I have a picture of my parents’ farmhouse north of Minatare, where I lived before coming here. Taken on a cold March morning, heavy moisture in the two old and largest trees on the farm froze and turned the branches into white crystals. I showed the picture to three elementary-age Korean girls at my school. One of the girls became visibly upset and told me it wasn’t fair that she lived in an apartment and I was raised on a farm.
Even as I write this the urbanization is all but inescapable. A few weeks prior I found a good place to write-—outdoors and away from other people. As I mentioned in a previous article, the Korean mountainside is often used for gravesites and cemeteries. Mountainsides are difficult to pave over.
In looking for space, I found a spot that requires a short hike up to a stairway of about 100 steps, leading to six graves. Out here, the pines surrounding the mounds have been cleared away and grass grows around the headstones. In the middle of the graves, a stone table with stone benches sits.
From the table, I can either look up the mountain into forest, or turn the other way and look over a valley and more mountains. As picturesque as this might sound, and I do love coming here as an alternative to the city, I am still in Korea.
When I look out I see an interstate under construction and hear another construction crew hammering in the distance. A radio is playing somewhere deep in the woods. But aside from that I hear birds and the wind in the trees. I have sunlight on my back. I have grass to lie upon. I have the place to myself. There is no one here except the six others, and they are sound asleep.
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