Rural Solitude

The hometown where Ji-ho had lived with his maternal grandmother until the age of fourteen was a rural village in Gyeongsang-do, nearly a four-hour drive from Seoul. Given his status as an idol and his condition as a patient, public transportation was out of the question, so Yong-ha decided to drive him there himself.

Fortunately, Ji-ho was able to ride in the car without issue. However, watching Yong-ha chatter incessantly throughout the drive—begging him to reconsider—Ji-ho began to suspect that the manager was the one suffering from post-accident PTSD.

After driving for a long while:

“According to the address you gave me, this is the place… but is this actually a village where people live? Why does it look like all the houses are empty?”

The temporary rental car, replacing the totaled van, entered a quiet rural hamlet. From the entrance by the village bus stop, much of the scenery differed from Ji-ho’s memories, but the biggest difference was the atmosphere.

“I heard rural areas are suffering from severe population decline; I guess it’s true.”

“Hmm. You said you moved to Seoul in middle school, right? Then you might not know anyone here. What if no one lives near your place? I was hoping for some of that small-town hospitality where neighbors look out for you.”

“Even back then, our house was at the very end of the village, so we were far from the neighbors. It’s impossible to live like those city-dweller stereotypes where everyone knows how many spoons and chopsticks are in each other’s houses.”

“Fine. I’m just an ignorant city person. Happy? Don’t laugh. No matter how I look at it, you’re a Seoulite too.”

Shortly after, the vehicle arrived safely at its destination. Ji-ho grabbed his crutches from the back, carefully stepped out, and took in his childhood home while listening to Yong-ha’s grumbling.

Yong-ha wasn’t wrong. Even in Ji-ho’s memory, the small detached house had been old and cramped, but now it was shabby even by rural standards.

The gate little Ji-ho used to open every day was rusted and wouldn’t lock properly, and the yard was overgrown with weeds. The roof and walls were peeled and scratched in places, making him worry about leaks, while unidentified materials covered in cobwebs were piled in a corner.

“Well, it’s more than I imagined. Haha.”

“Is this something to be calm about? You should have hired someone to maintain the place. It’s clearly been abandoned for ages; how are you going to live here?”

“The village foreman was supposed to look after it, but we lost contact at some point. Maybe he just forgot over time…”

“It’s been ten years; do you think the foreman is even the same person? Ugh, I don’t know. But you look strangely at peace, so I guess you’ll manage.”

“I told you. Now, just drop off the bags and head back. You said you can’t stay over because you have to be at the office early tomorrow. I don’t want you driving dangerously at night yet.”

Even if no one else had been seriously injured besides Ji-ho, it was an accident where a car had overturned. Yong-ha was the driver who had gone through a police investigation. Ji-ho, with genuine concern, pushed him back toward the car.

Faced with a patient with a cast on one leg exerting himself to push him away, Yong-ha had no choice but to give in. He set the boxes of belongings brought from the dorm onto the wooden porch and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I’ll drop by whenever I can, so call if you need anything. At least since it’s this remote, no one will recognize you.”

“I know. Take care of your health, Hyung. Try to go on some dates with Ha-neul-nuna while the others are preparing the album.”

“Seriously, I don’t know who the manager is here. I’m really going now, Ji-ho.”

Despite acting like he wouldn’t leave easily, Yong-ha’s car vanished from Ji-ho’s sight quickly. Ji-ho watched the car disappear past the village entrance for a moment, then turned and slid open the door to his old home.

“…There’s nothing here.”

The room was completely empty of furniture. Even the broken TV that appeared in the dreams Ji-ho had whenever he was struggling was gone. Only a single, tightly packed box sat in the corner; even Ji-ho couldn’t guess what was inside.

It made sense. When Ji-ho left this house for an orphanage after his grandmother’s death, he was just starting middle school. With no relatives left, this house—his grandmother’s sole asset—had been inherited by the young boy.

Because he was moved to Seoul for administrative reasons, the house became meaningless to him. The adults decided to leave the unsellable rural house alone until Ji-ho became an adult. The village foreman had offered to manage it, which was likely when the interior was cleared out.

‘I can guess what kind of things were left behind even while the household goods were tossed.’

Ji-ho set his crutches aside and sat by the box. Opening the heavily taped package was difficult. Even after peeling some off, sticky residue remained everywhere like the marks of time.

Through the gap he finally managed to pry open, Ji-ho locked eyes with a face and smiled bitterly.

“It’s been a long time, Mom.”

Resting at the very top was a fairly large framed photo. A young woman in a graduation cap with a distinct ceremonial sash over her shoulder. It was his mother, who had died when Ji-ho was seven.

Ji-ho’s grandmother had always been proud of that photo of her daughter receiving her doctorate in the U.S., keeping it on the wall. Since Ji-ho only met his mother a handful of times in his hazy early childhood memories of her being abroad, this face in the photo was more familiar than the real person.

‘After Mom died, Grandmother covered the frame with a cloth.’

The old woman hadn’t hated her daughter. She just couldn’t bear to look at the photo because it represented the very brilliance that had led to her daughter’s end.

The immersion in nostalgia was brief. He didn’t particularly want to revive the events of this house—though it was ironic that he had chosen it as his place of rest. Ji-ho covered part of the box again, telling himself he had a lot of work to do to clean up this ruin.

He inspected the other rooms, the kitchen, and the bathroom. “Grim” was the only word for it. It wasn’t quite at the level of needing to light a furnace or patch windows with paper, but every facility was dilapidated. No gas, no electricity. The only positive was that it was summer, so he wouldn’t freeze, but preparing a space to sleep would take time.

“I guess I should start by cleaning.”

Looking at the dust-covered interior, Ji-ho spoke to himself with forced energy. It was a daunting task for someone with a bad leg, but when the mind is troubled, one must keep the body moving.

**********************************************

As if proving the old saying that the sun sets faster in the countryside, darkness fell quickly. Ji-ho had barely finished cleaning a single room.

Only then did he feel the weight of Yong-ha’s worry. Unlike the city, streetlights were scarce, and his home was on the outskirts where no one reached. Even the few nearby lights didn’t turn on.

“I should turn on a light… Ah, I gave the tablet back to Hyung before coming down.”

As his vision dimmed, Ji-ho panicked. He rummaged through the box with his mother’s photo but found no flashlight. The kitchen was the same. In a place without gas, there was no way to strike a light. Not even a candle or a match existed.

He realized he was in trouble. Deciding it was best to just go to sleep early, he turned to enter the room.

Because it was an old house, the threshold was unusually high. Ji-ho, balancing on two crutches in the dark, inevitably tripped.

Thud—

“Ugh!”

Ji-ho tumbled onto the floor. He didn’t even have time to worry about his palms being scraped against the linoleum; his focus immediately went to the faint pain in his left leg. He leaned against the wall and fumbled for his cast. Everything was pitch black; he couldn’t see a thing.

“I hope I didn’t aggravate it. I should go to a hospital, right now…”

It was a leg that had required surgery to insert metal pins. The hospital said he’d be fine for daily life, but no one knew if he’d ever be okay as an idol performing intense choreography.

Whether it was the darkness or the fear for his leg, a wave of terror washed over him. He felt like a fool for worrying about dancing when he had already given up his career. He already regretted stubbornly coming to this ill-equipped house alone.

“Ha, haha. Sigh…”

But there was nothing he could do. He had chosen not to have a phone so that he couldn’t ask for help. Of course, he had his reasons.

‘You don’t want medication? Then we’ll prioritize counseling… I see, that’s difficult for you as well. For depressive disorders caused by environmental factors, it is crucial to distance yourself from the stress. In the case of someone with your specific profession… that would be the negative media reaction.’

Ji-ho, who had been angry enough to throw a tablet, had received psychiatric treatment while hospitalized. The doctor spoke of early symptoms of depression, and Ji-ho had refused formal treatment. The only advice he could follow was to distance himself from stressors. Choosing his hometown over the dorm had been for that reason.

That was also why he didn’t have a phone—the essential tool of modern society.

“No, actually, it’s an excuse. I just wanted to escape everything.”

Ji-ho’s monologue echoed in the silent space. The fear of the dark was replaced by the crushing loneliness of realizing he was truly alone.

Yes, he was alone. He had wanted to avoid it so badly, yet he was lonely again.

Whether it was because this was his childhood home or because he had found his mother’s photo, memories of his grandmother came flooding back. Even though it was a decade ago, he hadn’t forgotten a single detail.

‘Being smart is useless. Do you want to end up like your mother, Ji-ho?’

The daughter who had been the old woman’s pride had caused her immense pain by choosing to end her own life. Ji-ho’s grandmother had covered the photo with a cloth and began to rebuke her grandson whenever he reminded her of her daughter.

‘If you’re going to resemble anyone, resemble your father. Those singers on the TV are better.’

It was his grandmother’s defense mechanism that had given Ji-ho the dream of being a singer. It was the foolish evasion of an old woman who didn’t want to lose her only remaining grandson. Even though young Ji-ho knew this, he made a promise for her sake.

‘You’ll be left all alone… what will you do?’

‘Don’t worry, Grandmother. A big company in Seoul said they’ll help with living expenses if I become an idol trainee.’

‘Yes. You have to live differently than your mother, Ji-ho…’

He could still vividly feel his grandmother’s body turning cold. And the final words she left behind.

He hadn’t come here for no reason. Ji-ho would never forget his grandmother’s final moments, nor the promise he had made to her.

“I understand now. What you meant when you told me not to be like Mom.”

The pain was surely in his leg, but strangely, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. It felt as though this silent, cold space was slowly closing in on him.

“But Grandmother… I don’t know. If I can stand up again. Or what I’m supposed to do now.”

Ji-ho sat leaning against the wall for a long time. Alone, in the pitch-black darkness where nothing could be seen.