of ashes and new beginnings

1. the first spring - whiskey in my veins

Younghyun remembers a lot of things. 

Some are from days he would have done anything to forget; some are from days that he'd do anything to go back to. Some are memories he wouldn’t give up for anything, because although not all of them were pleasant, they were all the first steps he took towards much bigger things, the seeds of a new chapter in his life. And those memories are the ones he likes looking back on the most.

April 24, 1954. Seoul, Gangnam-gu. Irwonbon-dong.

The muffled sound of a camera's shutter going off in the entrance hall.

For half a second, a bright flash of white light blinded him, making him blink a few times. Still getting used to the atmosphere that went back to its dim quality now that the flash had disappeared, he looked around, scanning the area for the source of the loud and cheerful music that was making young couples dance in the middle of the ballroom: it seemed to be pouring out from an old jukebox sitting in one of the corners of the vicinity, next to an old but sturdy piano and a variety of other instruments. At least now Younghyun knew exactly which corner he had to avoid.

The young man breathed in a little and mustered up all the confidence he was able to find, his eyes still glued to the crowd.

It was now or never.

This place was exactly where he needed to be: as he had predicted, the recently reopened bar was packed with kids from all of Seoul’s bourgeoisie. Younghyun could even recognize some familiar faces he had seen in previous parties, but this one seemed to be the biggest one he had stepped foot in just yet. The young man breathed in, taking in the bright lights; he hated being there, but there was no way around the hurdle. After all, if he wanted to survive in such a gigantic city, filled to the brim with ambitious outsiders, he’d have to start by building up a name for himself.
Oh, how easy it had seemed back when he had thought of it, gently lulled to sleep by a train taking him to Seoul; right now, for the umpteenth time, he felt like he’d be unable to utter a mere word once faced with anyone.

Truthfully, talking to any of the guests of the party wasn’t even what he was fearing the most. Maybe it had more of something to do with how loud and packed the bar was, how close to other people he had to be.

As Younghyun power walked his way through the dancers to go find a seat at the drink station in the opposite corner of the one where the jukebox was, he couldn’t help but feel incomprehension take over his thoughts at the sight of the bright smiles on the faces around him. What were these people even celebrating anyways? The end of the war? Had they really been aware of what had been going on outside, or were they only using the end of it all as an excuse to get drunk? The answer was painfully obvious.

On the bar’s wooden surface, a few orphan glasses were lined up, some of them only half emptied. Younghyun thought a moment about the options he had: buying an overpriced drink to look socially acceptable crossed his mind, but instead, he turned around to check his surroundings. No one paid attention to him, too busy to steal glances at one of the many boys clad in an old soldier uniform, hovering in front of a bar. He sighed, and grabbed the glass that looked the less empty, before discreetly going to sit on the side of the station with his borrowed drink. Of course he had no intention of putting the glass anywhere near his mouth, but he needed an excuse to stay seated there, where he could see most of the crowd.

The party was now in full swing, laughter almost overpowering the roaring music coming from the jukebox, bright dresses twirling around while the young women wearing them displayed lovely smiles. They all wore their hair neatly and elegantly done, obsidian curls and waves making them look like they had just stepped out of an american magazine. Younghyun didn’t really understand the craze going on around western fashion this year, but he guessed it wasn’t so bad either. Nothing could be worse than the old rag of a dress his mother was wearing before he left for the war, and was probably still wearing now. Younghyun stared at one of the girls’ necklace, shining like it was made of melted stars and gold. Someday, his mother would have one of those too, even if it was the last thing he’d be able to achieve.