Blue Summer

Mini Chapter 1: Joon-Woo talks about his childhood

Contrasting to my character when I was a teenager and beyond, I was a naughty child. I grew up in Busan, living in a small apartment with my father and mother. I can recall that the apartment had two bedrooms with only one bathroom and a kitchen. The room my parents slept in was smaller than the room I slept in. All the guests visiting us would be seated in the kitchen or, more personally, in my parents' bedroom. I had never been visited by a friend. I hadn't done well to find a friend who would meet me.

I was always a pain in the neck of my mother. I used to create chaos during dinner and weekends. My mother used to feel irritated and tired with my daily yells and demands. My mother worked in a salon and would get only the weekends to relax. But with me present at home on weekends, she would have a tough time. Even then, I don't think that this was a valid reason to justify what she went on to do with me. I irritated her to the point that she began to hate me. When she had had enough, she would leave me alone in the house and go out with her friends to enjoy a day out. So, as a six-year-old, I was left alone in a small apartment that day. Well, if anything, everyone knows a six-year-old alone in an apartment is dangerous.

My father was a pilot, and unfortunately, he wasn't home that day when it happened. Therefore, I was all alone with no supervision. When my mother left, I turned on the TV and watched for hours straight. Utopia of any child. But after some time, I began feeling scared and alone. It got boring. I had no one to play with, and all my favourite shows on the TV had ended. I was not browsing through the channels looking for something interesting. I am glad I didn't stumble upon some horrific murder documentary. Honestly, that could have been better than what actually transpired. Despite not finding something interesting to watch, I kept the TV on as it gave me the feeling that someone else was in the house, too. I called my mother using the telephone installed in our house, but she did not pick it up. I tried calling her a dozen times, but she answered none of the calls. After a while, as is expected of a child, I began to feel hungry and rummaged through the fridge for food. But there was nothing that I could eat without cooking it first.

As a six-year-old, I would have found that cooking ramen was a thing to boast about among my friends. Seeing the chance to cook it independently, I took the ramen packet, climbed the kitchen counter and turned on the gas. It was a big mistake, as I would find it. The kitchen counter was on fire before I could realise what had happened. I jumped down in horror and ran to the door. I was frozen due to fear and crouched near the entrance. I thought that the fire would burn out on its own. But no. It spread through the apartment before my neighbours realised what had happened and called the firefighters. I would think at least two hours after the fire started, I was rescued from the apartment. Nothing was left in there. All burnt to ashes. I suffered heavy burns and was hospitalised. That wasn't even the worst part. It was that my mother did not come even when she was told that I was admitted for burn injuries. Imagine a six-year-old injured by fire, scared by the traumatising incident, which he knew was his mistake and left alone by his mother. Imagine how broken he would have been.

Luckily, one of my neighbours stayed with me till my father returned. Upon finding that my mother had ignored me, my father had a heated argument. Eventually, with the help of their families, they were forced to reconcile. Forced, I say, because my father did not like me being with my irresponsible mother. But he could do nothing.

Then came the worst part of life. Four years that I would want to drain down from my mind and memory. My mother turned out to be a monster in disguise. She was inhumane and irresponsible. When my father would be away, she would get drunk and exploit me. She touched me, as my young self would describe, too much for me to bear. Every time my father would leave, I would cry. I had no words to describe what she did to me, so I could not tell my father. I would lock myself up in my room while she knocked, asking me to come out.

It is hard to put into words the feeling a child would get when something so utterly disgusting happens to them.

In those years, I have never slept. Never. I have only had nightmares. Dreaded nightmares.