Choi Sung-lim
2001002102
Department of English Language and Literature
Sauntering on Kyungdae St.
I was late for the last school bus in the morning. In other words, I was too early for the next one! However, the next bus wouldn't come until the late afternoon.
The last school bus had already left when my bus from Kyongju got to the bus station. “Let by-gones be by-gones! It doesn't make any big difference, does it? All I have to do is go to the right bus stop and get on the right bus to school", I said to myself. My self-consolation continued. "I have enough time before class. I can take a walk on Kyungdae St. after the bus. I haven't sauntered on it for a couple of weeks, have I?"
Watching pigeons pecking for crumbs on the sidewalk, I was standing at the bus stop, observing the city beginning to warm up itself for a new day. "Look! A new day has only just begun. Just begun! I shouldn't let my spirit be spoiled by dwelling on I-should-have stuff. It's the beginning of the day."
A bus with the familiar number on top was making a right turn at the corner of the road to the bus stop. I found an unoccupied seat. How lovely! The bus passed by Dongdaegu train station. Tens of old Himalayan cedars seemed tired, standing on the traffic isles, supported by gigantic iron props. A five-minute ride brought me to a bus stop near Kyungdae St.
Turning to the right into the street which stretches down from the main entrance to the university, I paid a respectful and grateful glance to a little monument, which has an inscription informing passers-by that the ginkgo trees along the street were donated by a medical doctor in 1975. What a noble idea it is to donate trees to a street! A monument might get worn with time and tide, but ginkgo trees will grow more and more handsome, offering cool and generous shadow in summer.
After taking a few steps up the street, I realized my need to purchase a new diary. I walked back to the monument to make my second visit to the stationery shop which is located right across the street from the monument. I wondered if they would still have the same diaries as my old one. I remembered there had been two kinds: one with green apples on the cover, the other with ripened oranges.
I pushed the door open and got into the shop to find the shelf on which diaries were waiting to be chosen. The lady shopkeeper had been putting on her morning make-up, which just suited the small corner shop in the sunny morning. Right on the shelf were the things that had troubled me when making a decision on which would be my diary when I first visited the shop this March; Green or yellow? Apples of oranges? I had had to be temporarily mean to favor one. I had left the orange ones on the shelf.
The diary of green apples has been a portable friend of mine since then. My days at Kyungpook National University -it was nearly 10 years ago when I graduated from my previous university. I came back to university to study English Language and Literature this March- have been collected in that basket of fresh green apples. It was last night that I filled up its last page with a story of a blackout we had in my neighborhood. The story was actually written in the blackout. I felt like keeping a record of that extraordinary incident and my feelings at the very moment.
The diary contains my feelings, seasonal changes in nature, a shocking death of a business person, a haggard school campus affected by Typhoon Mae-mi and reflections on some interesting classes. It also makes me sense the fragrance of my village in the rain, describes peaceful looks of my apartment, reminds me of friends and students who have visited me and been served with nice and warm home-made dishes. The diary also projects different aspects of scenery of the fields, sky, clouds and Mt. Toham framed by my living room window.
Gratefully, there weren't any diaries of green apples this time. My decision-making didn't require as much thought as it had before. However, I wasn't quite content with the orange diary; I love oranges but not their color. Well, it would be nice to have diaries with something in common, a series of fruit diaries. The conflict had been settled. I picked up the orange diary.
I turned back to go to the lady to pay. A man who seemed to be her husband was brushing his teeth leisurely, looking out the wide glass front door. All of a sudden, I felt as if I were back in the late 1970s and early 80s when I was in elementary school. Actually its regular customers are elementary school kids who go to the school located on the way to the university.
Handing out a 5,000-won note, I waited for the lady, who had stopped putting on her lipstick for a second, to give me the change. While waiting, I noticed two Barbie dolls simply-wrapped with transparent plastic bags, just as they had been in my childhood. I smiled to see them hanging from the ceiling, wearing permanent smiles on their faces. With the change in my pocket, I left the shop with the new basket of oranges in my hand, saying good-bye to the shopkeeper.
I walked up Kyungdae St., looking up at the golden ginkgo leaves beautifying themselves against the blue sky in the autumnal morning. The street I was strolling on and the ginkgo trees I was appreciating are one of the entries to my old diary. I can take it out and taste it anytime.
I got to the school gate and saw three diverged roads. I took the one most travelled by me. Persimmon trees looked healthy, much healthier than they did right after Mae-mi's short but strong, influential stopover. They had been trimmed since they had had their branches broken. Now with just a few leaves on them, the patiently-remaining persimmons were more conspicuous than ever. Why do I care for those trees? According to my diary, their flowers that had fallen like snow in the spring made me reminiscent of a childhood memory with my sister. We used to get up early in the morning to pick them up and make a necklace.
