My childhood memories of Shinchon

My house was located on bottom of a hillside. The hill stretched out far distance to Mt Ahn; the mountain could be seen even from downtown 신촌(Shinchon). The Mt. Ahn drew my attention late winter in February as winter brings its last cold spell. At this time of the year, I would form a habit of staring at the mountain through windows of bus coming from school.  The staring then becomes a ritual of thawing my sprits that have been weathered over the winter in late Feburary. When the weather gets warm and the black school uniform starting becoming a bit uncomfortable to wear and fragrance of flowers slowly starts spreading in the air, my fervent zeal to catch the glimpse of the mountain gets hightened as I designated the mountain with flasy color of flowers be the official harbinger for arrival of spring. This is especially so when the landscape of Ahn Mt. becomes visible as bus coming from my middle school in AnGukDong on sunny afternoons making its way half a circle at ShinChon rotary. When the mountain started coming into the view as I stand in the bus holding a handle above my head with my hand, my fervent zeal of peering through the gaps amongst the passengers to catch the view of the mountain gets hightened. At that time, it seemed the mountain is bathed in the warmth of spring that caresses my soul as if a baby feels the touch of mother's bossoms. I lived in Shinchon within walking distance from the mountain. The mountain was not visible from my home standing in the front yard, but I could see the mountain top with a radio transmission tower right outside of my house. As I come out of the front entrence of my house, turning my head 90 degree would make me to see the mountain in the far distance behind the roof of my neighbor's house. My grandmother settled on this hillside purchasing a piece of land right after the Korean War. She built several houses on the lot to be able to live together in the close proximity with her married sons, including the two-story building that she aimed to make a commercial use. I vaguely remember when she was involved in building the two-story building at the time, but the memories are kept in me as fragmented pieces; piles of sands dumped for smoothing the exterior wall, the texture of the exterior wall I felt right after the building was completed, etc. I heard that after the building was built, it was sold off to someone else. My grandmother became ill after a period of time with the mounting debt had incurred as a result of not being able to supply cash while the building was under construction. Before she fell into her illness, I remember when she was taking me to 봉원사(Bongwon temple), a Buddhist Temple located at the foothill of Mt. Ahn. It must have been when I was around 5 years old, not used to taking a long walk. I don’t have recollection for the entire trip, but I remember instances when I was coming home, walking with her coming from the temple on a scorching hot summer day. My grandmother was wearing a light colored traditional clothes holding a parasol. The oppressive heat and poignant sunlights made me to trudge and caused unbearable irritations on my skin. Her white traditional socks, 버선(Bersun), and her shoes, 고무신(Gomooshin), were too bright to see with its reflection with my bare naked eyes, which made me to immediately turn my head away to lay my eyes on her dress instead. Grandmother was holding a parasol, that formed a shade behind her. So I moved over to follow behind her under the moving shadow. Entering the one end of field hockey field at 연세대(Younsei University) and then gazing at the field, a moment of undue feeling of vexation spurred into my mind as I saw a long distance of walking still lies ahead. I experienced the scorchness of August in Korea on the day when I was five years old as I trudged along behind my grandmother stepping on the shade of my grandmother holding a parasole formed behind her heading home.