March - Mongolian Soy Sauce

Tuesday, 1st March (Independence Movement Day)

The alarm went off. I sprang out of bed. I yanked the curtains open and looked outside. The sky was packed with fat black clouds but thank God it wasn’t raining. The forecast had promised a proper downpour from dawn. My stomach was in knots. Today is the day our family leaves the Bamseom flat and moves into a detached house in Gugil-dong. We’d been waiting so long we’d practically lost our voices.

Our cramped ancient Bamseom block is older than my dad. I’ve lived there thirteen years and eleven months. Mum and Dad have lived there a year longer than me. But I was also in Mum’s belly. So if we’re being fair we should add another nine months.

The building is long and wide rather than tall. And the ground floor is just one long row of shops. In summer if you opened the balcony sliding doors cooking smells would drift up in ribbons and sometimes you’d hear drunk people swearing. Because it’s a corridor-style block the lift was always rammed. The hallway was miserable to get through because of bicycles, pushchairs, flowerpots and also bin bags that had been put out to throw away later. Dad used to grumble that he couldn’t understand why people who’d lived long enough to learn a thing or two still chose to live like that.

Inside the lift there were notices stuck everywhere. One said not to flick cigarette butts in the corridor because they could burn someone walking past or leave marks on cars. Another said if you grind up food waste and pour it down the sink or flush it the pipes clog so you have to use special bags. Another warned people about dogs barking. Warnings. Practically every day. But that was nothing.

What pushed our family out of the place I was born in was the upstairs noise that started last summer. Every night without exception. Thud. Thud. Thud. And worse than the noise were the vibrations. More unbearable. Sometimes the living-room window shook because of it. Brrr. Thud. Thud. Thud. Dad said someone was walking by stamping their heels. That was what made the thudding and the shaking.

A week after it began the grandad from the flat below rang our bell. He thought we were the culprits. He only left after he’d heard it too. Right there in our living room. Thud. Thud. Thud. That night he rang more than ten doors trying to find the source and failed. The neighbours started suspecting each other. Even when we passed in the lift or corridor we stopped saying hello. As sleepless nights piled up Mum and Dad had to decide. We decided to move.

At first we weren’t planning to move into a detached house. There isn’t a single one in Bamseom. And if we left Bamseom for a house I’d probably have to change schools. I didn’t want to. Not even a tiny bit. So we looked for a top-floor flat instead. People said top floors were too hot in summer and too cold in winter. That didn’t appeal either but we had no better plan. Except after months of waiting we couldn’t find a top-floor place the right size for the three of us. Dad rang every estate agent in Bamseom every weekend. The answer was always the same. ‘Wait.’

Then one day the grandad downstairs moved out and a young couple moved in. They didn’t have a child but they did have a dog the size of a calf. And once that dog started barking it didn’t stop. When the couple left for work in the morning it barked all day as if it had a thorn lodged in its paw. Complaints exploded. The building management got involved. The young couple didn’t shift an inch. Residents started shouting at each other. The police came more than once. Still nothing changed.

Dad pleaded with Mum. ‘Anywhere just let’s move now.’ He didn’t care about the top floor anymore. He wanted to leave even tomorrow. He looked genuinely desperate. Mum calmed him down gently, saying they had to think rationally. ‘If we give up on the top floor and move and the flat above has King Kong we’re finished,’ Mum said. Even if we avoided King Kong by luck there was no guarantee there wouldn’t be another calf-sized dog downstairs next door or in the building opposite or behind. Dad looked crushed and said nothing. When Mum concluded it had become a world where you couldn’t avoid either upstairs noise or barking, Dad’s eyes almost filled up. And then Mum said to me. ‘Byeok what if we move into a detached house?’

Dad shot to his feet and said we should go view houses right away. Before I could even answer.

We thought living in a house would solve everything. But after visiting houses every weekend we gradually realised reality was different.

- Pros of a detached house -

1. Free from upstairs noise. Neighbours can still make noise but at least you don’t get the thud-thud-thud vibrations.
2. There’s a yard.
3. There are trees in the flowerbed.
4. You get your own roof terrace.

- Cons of a detached house -

1. No security guard like in a block of flats. The place is less secure.
2. Even in a house it’s hard to escape dogs barking.
3. Bad insulation. Hotter in summer and colder in winter than a flat.
4. Nobody to take deliveries.

We decided to buy a detached house. But so I wouldn’t have to change schools we searched in Gugil-dong. In the same school catchment as Bamseom. After two months we finally found a two-storey house built of blue bricks that we liked. In a flowerbed the size of a clump of dung there was a persimmon tree and two junipers. In one corner of the yard about the size of a palm there was a little tap installed. And strangely that was what Mum liked most. That tiny water point. The house had been renovated two years earlier so it was bright and clean. Ground floor. Living room and kitchen. Upstairs. My parents’ bedroom and mine. There was a bathroom downstairs and another upstairs. Compared to our old cramped and absurdly expensive Bamseom flat it was practically paradise. The only regret was that during the renovation they’d ‘forgotten’ the basement. One day if we cleaned it properly it could become a cosy little den.

On the way back after signing, Dad said we were now ‘paying rent to the bank’. I asked whether that made us house-poor. Mum burst out laughing. No, not to that extent. So don’t worry. And she pulled me into a hug. Dad ruffled my hair.

Outside it looked like rain could start any second. I prayed it wouldn’t rain at least until the move was finished. The movers arrived twenty minutes early. After one quick look round the flat one of them let out a long sigh. ‘First time I’ve seen this much stuff in an eighteen-pyeong place.’ That was because we hadn’t moved once in fifteen years but mostly because Dad owned over a thousand books. Dad handed a white envelope to the bearded man who looked like the boss. ‘For lunch at least.’ The boss muttered ‘Oh you shouldn’t have…’ And then shouted ‘Right. Let’s start packing!’

The moment they began, we had to get out of our tiny flat. Dad told one of the movers not to throw out the white bin bag in the small room. It wasn’t rubbish. It was a globe that had already been wrapped and they needed to take it. Mum said it was dangerous. It could be lost. It would be better to put it into another bag or a box. But Dad insisted ‘Bin bags are strong. They’re perfect.’ When Dad doesn’t listen to Mum something bad always happens. I was already afraid of what would happen this time.

While Mum and Dad went to sort things out at the estate agent’s I stayed downstairs and watched the loading. Boxes kept coming down the furniture lift without stopping. It was incredible. How could so much come out of such a small flat? When they came back, packing was nearly done. We took one last look around the empty flat. Only then did it properly hit me. We were leaving the place we’d lived for fifteen years. In the pile of rubbish stacked in the kitchen Mum found Dad’s white bin bag. Without a word she handed him the white bag with the globe inside. Dad started to say, ‘But… I told them not to throw it away I said—’ And his sentence died. Mum didn’t lecture him about why he’d put a globe in a bin bag. Oddly, she’s scarier when she says nothing.

The bearded boss left first, saying they’d get to the Gugil-dong house before two after lunch. While we ate at a restaurant on the ground floor of our building a huge downpour came down. But thankfully the moment we finished eating and stepped outside the rain stopped dead. As if it had never existed.

All afternoon, the movers put things away without resting. They were so strong and so fast that in a few hours everything was done. Mum said whatever we didn’t need immediately could stay in boxes and go straight to the basement. Dad agreed. We’d take our time and unpack bit by bit.

We ate dinner at home. Dad suggested going out because he worried Mum might be tired. But Mum said going out was even more tiring and made something simple. I was too exhausted to want to go anywhere. Mum and Dad have to work tomorrow. I suppose there isn’t a rule that gives you a day off just because you moved house on a public holiday. The only comforting thing is that tomorrow isn’t Monday but Wednesday. In three days it’ll already be the weekend and Mum and Dad can rest.

Tomorrow I’m starting Year 9. What sort of adventure is waiting for me this year? I lay down and closed my eyes. And outside I could hear a dog barking. Woof. Woof. Woof.

Wednesday, 2nd March

First day back. I’m Year 9, Class 3, Number 17 at Bamseom Secondary School. Ppagasari has become the form tutor for Class 4. Apparently the teacher who was supposed to take Class 4 suddenly asked for leave. The Class 4 kids all look like condemned men. One of them even says he’s going to beg his mum to let him change schools. Ppagasari, who teaches social studies, is as skinny as dried pollock. And to this day nobody in our school has ever seen him smile.

Our form tutor is Mr Kim Yun-sik, the Korean teacher. I’m sitting next to a new kid. Go Dong-wan. He used to live in Yongsan and moved to Bamseom not long ago. Dong-wan is taller than me by a full handspan. His skin is slightly darker so he gives off a sort of foreign vibe.

The best news of the day. Kim Hee-jeong is in our class. Hee-jeong is the prettiest girl in school. No. The prettiest in Bamseom. Maybe even the prettiest in the whole country. Who knows.

I’m reading The Moon and Sixpence by Somerset Maugham, borrowed from Dad’s shelf.

Thursday, 3rd March

An incredible revelation! My desk mate Dong-wan’s mother is Mongolian. His dad met her when he was working in Mongolia and they fell in love. Dong-wan was born in Mongolia and lived there until he was three. Every summer holiday he spends about two weeks there with his mum.

I asked him how to say ‘hello’ in Mongolian. He taught me. ‘Sain baina uu.’ Sleeping one night in a huge Mongolian tent. What would that feel like?

At cram school the teacher screamed because my maths homework was a disaster. He said if I ever handed in something that sloppy again he’d ring my mother. I want to live in a world without maths.

The Moon and Sixpence is the story of an irresponsible man. I don’t understand why Dad has that kind of book on his shelf.

Friday, 4th March

The rumour is out. Dong-wan’s mum is Mongolian. The first to pounce is Jong-gu the annoying delinquent. He provoked Dong-wan. ‘Oi! Go Dong-wan—heard you’re multicultural, yeah? Where are you from? Southeast Asia?’

Before Dong-wan could answer Cheol-jin said ‘No apparently he’s from Mongolia.’ And Jong-gu said ‘Mongolia? Right then from today you’re Mongolian soy sauce.’

Jong-gu’s clique started calling him Mongolian soy sauce. And other kids began whispering too. ‘He’s multicultural.’ But Yeong-sik in our class has a Japanese mum and nobody makes fun of him. If Dong-wan’s mum had been Japanese… would it have changed anything?

Saturday, 5th March

I’m annoyed at Dad because of the telly. I was watching Animal Kingdom and Dad changed the channel saying he had to watch Flash Girl. A man Dad’s age enjoying watching idols dance and sing. I can’t understand it. I want a television of my own. I’d buy a lottery ticket but I’m too young. When exactly do you become an adult?

To escape Flash Girl noise I went to my room and read a Chekhov short story. It was called ‘Fear’. A bloke cheats with his friend’s wife. There was a character named ‘the Forty Martyrs’. I don’t know why anyone would be called that. Russian novels are icy. Probably because it’s cold there. I should try a different Russian author.

Dad was smoking in the yard and Mum told him off again. She said to get the ‘good health’ discount on our insurance he had to quit. And asked how long he planned to keep smoking. She said if he stopped now it would save several million won in premiums. Dad laughed ‘Alright alright.’ And the second Mum went inside he smoked another one. Dad is a snake. A proper one. Then he said to me, ‘Son, never learn to smoke. It’s really hard to quit.’ And he inhaled like his life depended on it.

He says he started in the army with an ‘88’ cigarette issued as a ration. Before that he didn’t smoke. He promised that if I came first in the class he’d quit. So I told him actually it was better if he didn’t. First? Not tenth. First. Impossible.

Today I learnt there are things you shouldn’t even say as a joke.

Sunday, 6th March

I went to Grandad’s early. He’s a man who believes it’s a hundred times better to do what you like than to get good grades. With him I feel calm. We watched a western on TV. The Brave.

It’s about a girl who hunts down the bandits who killed her father to take revenge. A freckled girl with two long braids on either side. She looks like a fierce version of Anne of Green Gables.

Grandad told me the original title was True Grit. And in an older film John Wayne played the sheriff. I asked what ‘true grit’ meant. He said ‘real courage.’ Then he added ‘Brave is courage and grit is courage too but not the same. Grit is the stubborn kind. The kind that doesn’t give up. Simple ‘bravery’ is brave.’ In the film that freckled Anne-with-a-revolver really showed that ‘true grit’. If I were her could I go after my father’s killer? I hope it never happens.

After lunch Grandma asked ‘Byeok what do you want to be later?’ I said ‘I don’t know yet.’ Grandad said it was good even if not right away to find something I wanted to do. To have a goal. And not neglect school too much either.

At night in bed I tried thinking about what I want to do, but nothing came. When I closed my eyes I could still see that red-haired Anne with the gun.

Monday, 7th March

At lunch the delinquent Jong-gu mocked Dong-wan again calling him Mongolian soy sauce. He spotted dumplings on the side and said ‘Oi give me some Mongolian soy sauce to dip my dumplings.’ Jong-gu’s clique doubled over laughing. And even other kids laughed with them. I couldn’t stand it. I shouted for them to stop. Jong-gu lunged at me. ‘Oi—you donkey-head mind your own business!’ Without Dong-wan separating us it would’ve turned into a fight. Thanks to Jong-gu’s clique from today my nickname is ‘donkey-head’.

After school Dong-wan and I were walking home and Jong-gu’s clique followed us to the gate chanting Mongolian soy sauce and ‘donkey-head’. Because Dong-wan—big and solid—stays indifferent it feels like they bully him even more.

Last night I dreamed I was galloping through the West on a huge horse. Hee-jeong was riding out to avenge her father and I became a just sheriff chasing bandits. While chasing them I got lost somewhere in Texas and woke up.

Today I skipped maths cram school. I don’t want to go.

Tuesday, 8th March

Today again I didn’t go to maths tutoring. The teacher finally rang Mum and everything was discovered. Mum called Aunt Jeong-su who lives in Bamseom. Aunt Jeong-su is the most famous private maths tutor in the neighbourhood. She said forcing a child with no interest in studying into an academy was a waste of money. And it would be better to stop sending me. When Mum asked how I was supposed to get into university if I wasn’t good at maths Aunt Jeong-su said you could just not aim for a ‘good’ university. Mum was even more offended and hung up.

I’m reading Tolstoy’s What Men Live By.

Wednesday, 9th March

Hee-jeong has become vice class rep. I have no role. Not exactly a shock.

In PE we played football. Because I didn’t fancy running I put myself in goal. Kicking a ball around in every direction doesn’t interest me at all. Standing there like a sack of grain I let in two stupid goals and got subbed off. Even two goals down our team won thanks to Dong-wan. He runs fast and shoots well. They went off to celebrate with tteokbokki but Dong-wan and I didn’t go.

Mum told me I didn’t have to go to maths tutoring anymore. But instead an ‘exceptional measure’ would be taken soon. An exceptional measure? I might have been better off just going properly.

At night when I lie down I think about Hee-jeong. The way she ran—quick and light—during PE keeps replaying. I can’t sleep.

Thursday, 10th March

What Men Live By is a profound book. I was really moved by “The Two Old Men”. Helping people who suffer is noble. Spending all your pilgrimage money helping others. Tolstoy gives me something close to a religious revelation.

This week I haven’t seen Dad even once. He comes home late every day. I’ve decided that when I grow up I won’t be a programmer like him.

After school I went to Aunt Jeong-su’s. Mum’s ‘exceptional measure’ was this. Private maths tutoring at Aunt Jeong-su’s every Saturday for one hour twenty. I’m dead. Aunt Jeong-su is even scarier than Ppagasari. Everyone knows her husband as a henpecked husband. At this level he’s basically a national representative.

Friday, 11th March

I told Dad that Jong-gu’s clique was picking on Dong-wan for no reason. Calling him Mongolian soy sauce. And because I was close to him they were calling me ‘donkey-head’ too. Dad burst out laughing. ‘What a lovely nickname! Donkey-head. Suits you perfectly—you’re stubborn!’

When I yelled ‘Dad!’ he added still smiling. ‘Alright sorry. Son if someone hates you for no reason give them a good reason to hate you. One is enough.’

Mum who’d heard said dryly. ‘What a wonderful education…’

Dad put on a serious face and said you had to get along with your friends.

Today I discovered something Dad Uncle and my form tutor have in common. All three are short on male hormones.

Saturday, 12th March

I was supposed to arrive at Aunt Jeong-su’s at 8:55. I arrived at 9:00 exactly. Five minutes late ten minutes of scolding. Aunt Jeong-su always schedules appointments in five-minute blocks. She thinks it creates pressure and makes people respect the time. I sent Uncle two distress signals but he just shrugged and vanished into the bedroom.

Aunt Jeong-su gave me an hour of maths problems then went out to the living room. I sweated alone in the study. There were two salt-water problems. If I could just dip a finger and taste it I could solve the concentration. Just looking at them gives me chills. Thankfully no speed-and-distance problem this time.

An hour later the tiger-aunt came back. Out of twenty questions I solved five. And out of those five I copied two wrong. So really I got three. As I hung my head crushed she explained how to do maths properly.

1. Read the question to the end precisely.
2. Write your reasoning neatly.
3. Don’t give up before the end.

She said maths isn’t solved with your head but with your backside. Then she gave me a mountain of homework. Goodbye lost weekend.

At home Mum and Dad were arguing about splitting the housework. They bickered like children. Mum rang Aunt Jeong-su to complain. Uncle does every task Aunt Jeong-su orders perfectly. Mum should learn her method.

Sunday, 13th March

In the afternoon Grandad rang. We all had dinner at his place. On the news there was a report about the former ‘comfort women’. Grandad told the story of my great-grandfather forcibly conscripted for labor by Japan. The ship he was on was sunk by an American bombing in the middle of the Pacific. He survived by a hair but was held prisoner for a while. He returned to Korea after liberation but he was so weakened he died soon after. Grandad cleared his throat and went to the toilet. His eyes were red.

Monday, 14th March

At the end of classes our form tutor asked the kids from multicultural families to stay behind. Dong-wan stood up sharply and said ‘Sir I’m not a multicultural family kid. I’m just Dong-wan. Dong-wan. Please don’t call me that.’

The teacher was speechless startled. Then he apologised to Dong-wan and Yeong-sik. ‘Yes. Sorry. That was my mistake. I won’t call you that again.’

After that the students stopped calling Dong-wan Mongolian soy sauce. Well. Except Jong-gu’s lot.

Tuesday, 15th March

After school I went to Dong-wan’s to play. His flat is the biggest and most luxurious in Bamseom. His living room is bigger than our entire house. His mother is unbelievably beautiful.

We ate the snack she’d prepared then played a role-playing game. I’d barely ever played and couldn’t win. Because I got bored quickly Dong-wan showed me his miniature car collection. Ferrari Lamborghini Porsche. He explained each model. It didn’t interest me. It was boring.

Then he showed me his dad’s study. And that was paradise. Thousands of DVDs and CDs covered an entire wall up to the ceiling. A huge TV. Speakers almost as big as me. Dong-wan said I should come back when his dad was home to watch a film there. So today I just left.

Dong-wan’s dad is a huge fan of a girl group called True Colors.

Wednesday, 16th March

These days I orbit Hee-jeong like a shy UFO alien hovering near humans. But she doesn’t seem to notice anything. In her eyes I don’t exist. I want to get closer but I have absolutely no idea how. I need real courage.

On Dad’s shelf I found an old book titled The Age of Gwancheol-dong. I should look up where Gwancheol-dong is.

Thursday, 17th March

Jong-gu’s clique mocked Dong-wan again calling him Mongolian soy sauce. I kicked my chair and shouted for them to stop and Jong-gu flinched. Without the bell we might’ve come to blows. Dong-wan is tall and brave and yet he takes it all without a word. Because of Jong-gu I think I’ve developed an anger-management disorder.

Teachers think Jong-gu is a model student because he’s rich and good at school. But to me he’s a bad kid. Recently he forced Cheol-uk to go eat fried chicken with them and then made him pay. Cheol-uk didn’t tell his family because he was scared. Maybe justice exists only in films. Jong-gu’s father is a police chief. If I ever meet him I’d like to tell him to start by installing justice at home.

Seeing Dad on weekdays has become as rare as a star in the sky. Mum comes home late too because of her job at the travel agency. Tonight we had dinner at Grandad’s. I did the washing-up. Grandma said ‘Our Byeok has grown up.’ I want to become an adult quickly.

On the way home I bought a bag of bungeo-ppang. It hasn’t even been an hour since dinner but I’m already hungry. Maybe it means I’m growing. The bungeo-ppang Hyung said it was a freebie and slipped in two extra. I think I’m going to become a regular.

Friday, 18th March

Doing the maths homework Aunt Jeong-su gives me has flattened my backside. I don’t understand why we have to learn maths. Knowing how to count money should be enough.

Aunt Jeong-su rang and told me not to be late tomorrow under any circumstances. I promised I absolutely wouldn’t be.

Saturday, 19th March

Ah. I want to disappear into a mouse hole. I arrived ten minutes late at Aunt Jeong-su’s again. She said nothing and made me stand in the corner of the living room with my arms raised. And then. Hee-jeong walked in. Kim Hee-jeong the most beautiful girl at Bamseom Secondary School. She took maths tutoring there too. She saw me being punished pulled a tiny smile and went into the study. I wanted to crawl into an ant hole. My face burned as if it might catch fire if someone held a candle near it.

A little later Aunt Jeong-su told me to lower my arms and gave me twenty questions. This time I solved seven. And none were wrong because of bad copying. Hee-jeong only missed one out of twenty.

Aunt Jeong-su made noodles for snack. Hee-jeong ate with me. She’s been taking lessons there for over a year. Uncle told me while I was eating. ‘Do you know what an honour it is to study with your aunt? Your mum begged her to accept weekend lessons. So don’t ever be late again.’ I answered ‘Yes’ while nearly choking. They say you shouldn’t even bother a dog while it’s eating. Hee-jeong smiled slightly tight around the edges.

Aunt Jeong-su concluded ‘Go home now. Don’t hang about anywhere. And you Byeok. One more late arrival and it’s over. Anyone who can’t respect the time doesn’t need to study maths.’ I ran out as if escaping. In the lift Hee-jeong said ‘Your aunt’s a real tigress.’ ‘Yes. Her childhood nickname was Tarzan.’ I said ‘Tarzan?’ she repeated laughing.

I spent the entire afternoon on maths homework. My hair must have turned white in one go. Who dared to say life is beautiful?

Sunday, 20th March

All morning Dad has been helping Mum with housework. Mum is training him using Aunt Jeong-su’s advice.

- How to manage your husband (according to Aunt Jeong-su) -

1. Don’t ask vaguely. Give precise instructions. (For example. Shake the bedroom duvet twice front and back. Vacuum right under the sofa. Put the recyclables from the storage room outside.)
2. Drop without hesitation anything the husband absolutely refuses to do. (For example. Taking out food waste.)
3. Once the job is done praise him. (For example. Dolphin, puppy.)

In the evening Uncle insisted we go to a PC café. He looks like a mountain bandit but his hobbies are at primary-school level. After losing two matches in a row I had no energy left. On the way home I asked whether he wasn’t scared to live with Aunt Jeong-su. He said ‘No. I run the house. Why?’

They say you can know ten fathoms under water but not one fathom inside a man’s heart.

Monday, 21st March

In ethics class we debated whether nuclear energy was essential. The class rep Yeong-su said without nuclear power there’d be an electricity shortage so we just needed to manage it well. Hee-jeong argued it was better to reduce consumption and do without nuclear.

Then Jong-gu spoke up and said without nuclear plants you can’t make nuclear weapons and our country should have them as soon as possible. Dong-wan replied you absolutely must not make weapons that dangerous. After that even the sleepy kids woke up to join in. The class split into pro-nuclear and anti-nuclear groups. They talked about nuclear weapons like they were toys.

I watched as a spectator arms folded leaning back in my chair. Mr Na Hee-cheol told me off and said to sit properly. My face went red as if I’d been hit by a nuclear bomb.

The teacher said nuclear power was a ‘hot potato’ and gave us homework. Write an opinion for or against due the following week.

I rang Grandad and asked what ‘hot potato’ meant. He said it was something that burns your palate if you put it in your mouth but if you don’t eat it you stay hungry. It’s a bit like. ‘Would you rather solve a salt-water problem or a speed-and-distance problem?’

Tuesday, 22nd March

Dad couldn’t make it into work. His neck and shoulders hurt so much he can’t even turn his head. Mum told him to go to hospital but Dad said one day of rest would be enough. He should’ve listened to Mum but he dug in and didn’t go.

I finished The Age of Gwancheol-dong. It’s a book full of anecdotes about many poets and novelists. But because it’s old there were lots of writers I didn’t know. Shin Gyeong-rim, Cheon Sang-byeong, Kim Seong-dong, Kim Gwan-sik, Gu Ja-un. I especially liked the story where the poet Cheon Sang-byeong hides the novelist Oh Yeong-su’s Pelikan fountain pen. These days it would end up in court but back then there was romance in it.

I asked Dad what he’d think if I became a writer later. He said do what I wanted but writers are poor and struggle to feed a family. I said I’d stay single even as an adult. Dad laughed and said that was an excellent choice. When Mum shot him a look he quickly added ‘I’m joking.’

These days Dad looks more and more like Uncle.

Wednesday, 23rd March

Dad still couldn’t go to work. He finally went to hospital early this morning and was diagnosed with a cervical disc herniation. Because he also has severe pain in his shoulder and back he has to rest completely for a while. Dad handed in a medical note and leave request at work. He’s taken a month of sick leave. And yet he’s as happy as a kid on summer holiday. Yes. Dad needed rest too.

Mum announced that from today we were immediately entering austerity mode. As if we hadn’t already. She said my birthday present would be simple. The smartphone I’d been hoping for evaporated.

I must be the only kid in class without a smartphone. You can forget your textbooks but never your smartphone.

Thursday, 24th March

Walking along the Han River with Dong-wan we talked about our future dreams. It was mild and pleasant to walk. Dong-wan said his dream was to become the most just judge in the world. His dream is a bit long. A judge fine but ‘the most just in the world’?

When Dong-wan said he wanted to be a judge his father advised him to set a more specific goal. He explained there are good judges, bad judges and corrupt judges and without a clear goal you could end up becoming one of the bad ones. That’s why Dong-wan decided he would be the most just judge in the world.

That evening over dinner at Grandad’s with Dad we talked again about Dong-wan’s dream. Grandad said Dong-wan’s father sounded like a truly admirable person. Next to him Dad joked ‘Then Byeok when you grow up be the most just writer in the world.’

Grandad immediately told him off. ‘Grow up. How can someone who studied philosophy be so immature…’

Friday, 25th March

Dad sat on the living-room sofa all day watching television. After his morning physiotherapy he doesn’t leave the sofa. But the moment Mum’s return time approaches he washes his hair brushes his teeth and even does the washing-up late like he’s had a productive day.

Mum who suspects nothing worries only about his neck and shoulders. To me Dad doesn’t look like he’s in that much pain. In front of Mum he’s a brat.

Saturday, 26th March

Thankfully I arrived ten minutes early at Aunt Jeong-su’s. Because I’d also finished all the maths homework I was praised. When I asked if Hee-jeong wasn’t coming today Aunt Jeong-su said she had something on and had taken the Saturday morning lesson the week before. ‘Why? Are you interested in Hee-jeong?’ Aunt Jeong-su asked. My face went red like a tomato.

Even though it was Saturday Mum went to work. She says the travel agency is very busy at the moment. As if there have ever been quiet periods. Dad and I ate ramyeon for lunch. Now that we’re not even a double-income household anymore eating ramyeon is a bit grim. Pizza at least!

Sunday, 27th March

I told Mum and Dad I wanted a smartphone for my birthday but they acted like they hadn’t heard.

Dad lazed around on the sofa all morning then got told off by Mum again. From today all housework is Dad’s responsibility. Since Mum earns the household money Dad doesn’t really have a choice.

That evening watching a singing competition programme Dad suddenly declared that the philosophical basis of the show was ‘Darwinism’. According to him it wasn’t a system that selected the singer with the highest score. It was one that eliminated the singer with the lowest score. Exactly like Darwin’s theory of evolution. Dad summarised Darwinism in one sentence. Nature doesn’t choose. It eliminates. Sometimes Dad really does seem like he studied philosophy at university.

Monday, 28th March

After doing the dinner washing-up I asked Dad who was smoking in the yard why he’d given up philosophy to become a programmer. Without hesitation he said ‘You think people work because they like it? People work to live.’ Sometimes Dad looks sad to me.

Tuesday, 29th March

I took Charles Darwin’s The Voyage of the Beagle from Dad’s bookshelf, but Mum said it wasn’t a book for me and told me to put it back. Dad defended me. ‘It’s fine. When I was in Year 9, I watched The Godfather at the cinema and understood life. There aren’t children’s books and adults’ books. Let him read.’ So Mum said ‘In that case read it to the end. Don’t abandon it halfway.’

I regretted it before I’d even finished the first page. I should’ve listened to Mum…

Wednesday, 30th March

Jong-gu’s clique got severely told off by Ppagasari. At lunchtime they mocked the workers repairing the school sports ground and caused a huge commotion. From the second floor they kept throwing water down while provoking them. When the workers shouted for them to stop it calmed a bit. But then Jong-gu stuck his head out of the window and said ‘If you live like that it’s because you were bad at school isn’t it?’ One of the workers suddenly slammed his can on the ground and ran up to our classroom shouting. ‘Oi you little brat—come here!’ The Class 4 form tutor Ppagasari came running. Our own form tutor was in the toilet at the time. The other workers came up too. The atmosphere was terrifying.

Ppagasari apologised to the workers. Jong-gu’s clique apologised reluctantly. They were all taken to the counselling room. They deserved a serious dressing-down.

Thursday, 31st March

Jong-gu’s mother came to the school made a scene and left. In the staff room she screamed demanding who they thought they were to humiliate her child. Shouting at the form tutor and Ppagasari. The headteacher and deputy had to intervene to calm her down.

Jong-gu is bragging everywhere that he’s going to hide Ppagasari’s social studies textbook. That book is a national treasure. It’s covered in notes, diagrams and red underlining everywhere. Bloated like it’s been soaking in water that book is the true source of Ppagasari’s income.

Jong-gu is really an idiot. If he wanted to hide it he should do it quietly. Talking about it like that means everyone will know he did it.