Humans Yearn
The past.
You can never go back to it, and that makes it a kind of sorrow. But as I've said more times than I can count, the further time carries you away, the more it gets polished, and polished again, until it turns into a memory. And even if it never quite becomes one, it still finds a place among all the other recollections, settling in with a little grief and a little wistfulness folded inside it.
For me, the memories of the past are fuel. I plant my feet on the ones laid out beneath me and take the next step. Some of them sit there precarious, ready to tip. Others stand firm. Sometimes I put my weight on the wrong one and my whole body lurches and I go sprawling — but if I keep climbing, using the ones that hold, then sooner or later even the ones that used to wobble lock into place and become something solid.
That doesn't mean the bad things turn good. A hundred and thirty grand in debt was never going to be a blessing, any more than the Director's death was something to feel glad about. Those things themselves still lie there, bitter and hollow. But the pieces scattered around them come back with their own quiet bittersweetness.
Not the grief of the debt, but the swell of joy the first time I had a space that was mine. Not the thick, clinging feeling wrapped around the Director's death, but the affection in those beautiful hands that used to stroke my hair — the love in them. I can't deny that those things, the small ones and the enormous ones alike, held me so I could endure, and at some point shoved me in the back so I could keep moving forward.
I still yearn for it. I still think of the past. They weren't radiant, glittering moments or anything like that, but whenever I recall that time I always find myself wanting to go back. I may never have shone the way other people did — but for me, it had its own glimmer. Its own kind of beauty.
So. Every time I remember, I yearn, and I regret, and I refuse it — and I keep enduring, and I keep going. And other people can do it too. I'm sure of that.
"Victory. I'm here."
"You really are something..."
I thought that, and opened the door that had been shut, and stepped into the house where the man was alone.
It was about the fifth day. Same as always, I pulled out the thermos of coffee and the crackers and set them down between us.
"Marine Choi Young-ho. Please — you first."
"...Could you maybe knock that off...?"
Choi Young-ho. That was his name. Forty-seven, which put him right where I'd guessed — mid-to-late forties.
"Doesn't seem like your inner Marine has fully woken up yet."
"I don't know what the hell an 'inner Marine' is supposed to matter..."
"It matters. It's what keeps a person moving forward."
Before the world ended, he'd worked at a decent mid-sized company. He'd met his wife there, and married her.
"...Didn't you say you didn't want to die anymore."
"Nobody in this world dies just because they want to. Drink up before the coffee goes cold."
"..."
His life, unlike mine, had been smooth. They hadn't been rich, but he'd never gone without. He'd built himself a decent circle of people from school onward, met a good woman, had a beautiful daughter, and lived happily.
"Where did we leave off yesterday?"
"...Your, ah... Corporal Cha stories. They were looping. Infinitely."
"Right, I remember. The bed soccer-kick. Tell me, Marine Choi Young-ho — back in your day, if somebody ground their teeth, did they bury them on the mountain?"
"No. No. Of course not. We just wrapped it up with a soccer-kick, more or less. The old days weren't some grand saga."
So it really was an ancient tradition. The Marine soccer-kick, a proud institution dating back to '98, had flowed naturally into Corporal Cha's ear, and from there become the touching tale of him personally demonstrating it on me — his direct junior.
"The military was a real shitshow, wasn't it?"
"Well... it wasn't exactly pleasant, no. We did twenty-six months back then. How about you?"
"...Aye."
The way he slipped a jab in mid-conversation, that easy little flex of seniority — yeah. He was a Marine, all right.
"Still. It was good. It wasn't good, but when you look back on it, it was all right. Even kind of fun."
"That's how memory works. Time passes, you look back, and it doesn't seem so bad. Same for me. Sometimes I catch myself thinking I'd like to see Corporal Cha again."
"That's right.... Even the bad memories, in the end..."
Choi Young-ho said that, closed his eyes, and nodded. The way his lips twitched like he'd sunk into some old recollection, the way he clenched his fist — honestly, it was bitter to watch. Pitiful, even.
"Everything passes. That's just how it is."
"..."
"When I was a kid I got adopted, then sent back a week later, and ended up at the orphanage again. The shock of that — give it a month or so, and I was fine. Most things are like that."
Shared suffering. Hearing from someone as unhappy and worn down as you are can double the grief — but sometimes it's a good way to build a little camaraderie.
"...That so."
"Yes. Usually. And an Invincible Marine is a lot tougher than your average person, so of course you'd bounce back even faster."
"That Invincible Marine thing is getting a little..."
"AAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! VIIIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TOOOORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"All right, I get it, please!"
Can't forget to mix in some unhinged bullshit now and then to reset the mood. You have to keep a person from drowning in the depressing talk.
And so, in the quiet that followed, I swallowed a mouthful of coffee and spoke.
"Marine Choi Young-ho. Come with me."
"..."
Damn. Shit, even I had to admit that one hit like a freight train. A genuinely cool line. I nodded, privately patting myself on the back, and after a moment a conflicted answer came back.
"...I don't know if there's any point in living any longer."
"Living itself might not have much of a point. But if you keep grinding it out, meaning has a way of showing up, doesn't it?"
"..."
The act of living, in itself, doesn't really mean anything.
"A dirt-poor orphanage kid. A complete orphan who made it through a miserable school life without a single friend, got soccer-kicked through the military, and the second he tried to start over ended up a hundred and thirty grand in debt — yeah, there's no meaning in any of that."
"Ah — no. That isn't what I meant..."
"Even living like a damn disaster, meaningful things still showed up. At thirty I got my first girlfriend, even. That kind of thing."
Look at it from the dark side and it's an endless pile of dark things. But even wedged in among all that, there was plenty of good.
I looked at Choi Young-ho and called Harin on the radio, and she answered immediately, like she'd been sitting there waiting for it.
"See? If this isn't a reason to have gritted it out and stayed alive, I don't know what is."
"..."
The moment I finished talking, he stared blankly at the family photo hanging on the wall. I drained what was left in the thermos, then stood.
"I'll come back tomorrow. I'd like to see a little more life in your face when I do."
"..."
Choi Young-ho just kept looking at that family photo, as if he'd sunk into some deep thought. I closed the door and started walking.
I wanted to head home. The truth was, I still had to go looting. I'd wasted time playing the cool guy and the conversation had run long.
Fuck.
And the next day.
When I went back to Choi Young-ho's house, the place looked a little different. The family photo that had been hanging on the wall had been taken down and tucked into a bundle. The tent that had been spread across the living room was packed away, and all sorts of things had been stuffed into a large bag.
"..."
"So you came."
You couldn't say a person had been fixed in a mere six days. But it was true that a little life had come back into his face. He greeted me with a weak smile. A photo album sat in his rough hands. He held it in both of them, like something precious, and spoke.
"I know it's shameless of me, but I have a favor to ask. The luggage is a bit much, though — will that be all right?"
"I don't mean this the wrong way, but... that was a pretty fast decision."
Honestly, I'd figured I'd be in for another round of hard persuasion today. I'd been thinking it would take about two weeks to talk him around.
"You said it yourself. An Invincible Marine has to assess and decide — fast and precise."
"Hah."
Choi Young-ho still looked sad, biting down on his lip as he made the joke. The grief was still there in every line of him.
"My wife... and my precious little girl. They wouldn't have wanted me to die. So I figured I'd try living a little longer."
"..."
And he said it while still clutching that album. There was a lot of stuff. Some of it useful. Some of it not.
"Once I'm really all right... time passing won't turn any of this into a fond memory, but if I get better, I'll sort through it then."
"No. Every last one of these things is precious. Take them all."
The letter the Director had left behind wouldn't have been of any use to anyone else — but it had been of use to me. In the same way, all of this would be precious and necessary to Choi Young-ho. I thought that, and helped him lift the bags he'd packed.
"Let's go."
"I'm counting on you."
I walked in front. The destination, obviously, was the officetel. It was starting to feel a bit like a refugee shelter, not that I'd say so — but Assistant Manager Kim Min-seo was a good person. She'd understand.
"Why won't you tell me your name, anyway?"
"Eh. Being called by the name the parents who threw me away left behind just... doesn't sit right."
"Hm. That... I can see that."
My name. There was no grand meaning to it, no special reason. I just hated that the people who'd dumped me had still gone and given me a perfectly decent one.
The officetel. I knocked with my arms full of luggage, and a familiar face came to greet me.
"...Kiddo?"
"How about a new teammate?"
She looked at me like this was absurd, scanning me up and down, then glancing at Choi Young-ho behind me.
"Wait... I mean. Ha... You do know this isn't a relief center, right?"
"If a kind Assistant Manager lives here, doesn't that make it a shelter?"
"...Just come in."
So we went inside. Behind Assistant Manager Kim Min-seo, same as last time, the brother and sister were doing squats.
"Oppa, just five more."
"I'd rather you just kill me..."
"When you disappeared, I almost actually died. Just five more, okay?"
"Please..."
The heater was on, so it was warm. At some point the Imaginary KATUSA Warrior had started laying out snacks and tea on the table.
Which is why I said the first thing that came to mind.
"What. This is a shelter."
"Kiddo, you are seriously the worst."
"Was gonna say the same thing."
Behind me, I heard Choi Young-ho laugh. He was still holding the album like it was something precious, a faintly wistful smile on his face.
Humans yearn.
Sometimes it might be nothing more than a bitter way of running from the present.
And sometimes it becomes the very thing that carries you through hardship, and pushes you forward.