It was the 15th of August, national day in Korea. The Korean flags were flourishing on the windows. But nothing else did seem to change from the usual daily life in Busan. The wind was blowing, the sky was depressingly grey and the day was punctuated by quick showers that were refreshing the heavy atmosphere of this middle of August.

 

The old man was sitting in the kitchen. A cup of tea in front of him and a notebook filled with his elegant writing. He was tired. The day was over.

He seemed weirdly small in that kitchen. Like he didn’t belong there, like something was missing in the picture.

She was looking at him but couldn’t say a word. After few minutes, he finally moved in order to grab the cup of tea. While silently sipping it, he opened the notebook-his diary- and started writing. But then, suddenly stopped, looked at her and explained her that after reading his diary, his sister in law cried. He was almost smiling.

That was the sign that he wanted to talk a little bit and that she should sit at the table and not disappear in her bedroom like she often does after finishing dinner.

While turning the pages of his notebook, he told her that he wanted to read some of his writing to her. Curious and a bit honoured that, she too, could have access to his deepest thoughts, she still felt a bit worried that she couldn’t really understand everything as her broken Korean wasn’t allowing her to really appreciate reading in that language.

Having prepared all of her best dictionnaries, she sat down and waited for him to start reciting the poems he religiously wrote everyday in memory of his late wife. 

 His solemn and deep voice was filling the room.  Without understanding all, she was catching some words here, some images there. It was a lot about silence, about nights and days following each other always leaving behind the abscence of his beloved wife.  Her perfume, her gentile smile, and her presence that too soon were taken away from him. He simply missed her. As he was keeping on opening his broken heart to her, his voice began to shake. The reading was about to end.

As he was closing his notebook and putting it back in his bedroom right next to his wife’s picture, she could hear the flapping of the flag hanging out of the living room’s window.

Yes, it was the 15th of August. So he sat down on the sofa and watched the TV programm specially made for this day.  At the end of the celebratory concert, he switched off the TV, put back inside the flag and went back to his bedroom.

62 years ago, the Republic of Korea was created. 62; his age.

The old man felt asleep quietly. The republic was still alive but it was his first national day alone since his wife passed away.