Chanmi Apartment

In five months, an old man will be dragged out of his house.

Minjoong got up and washed his face with cold water. Like always, he grabbed his beret and opened the door in front of him. Every morning, he held a cardboard at his spot for three hours. “Stop the reconstruction,” the placard said.

He stood next to a giant ginkgo tree at the apartment’s entrance. On their way out, a few drivers rolled down their windows to say hi. He didn’t recognize these neighbors anymore, but smiled and tipped his hat to show his gratitude.

Forty years ago, when Chanmi Apartment was built, local newspapers printed articles saying people would never consider buying an overpriced apartment when they could pay the same price to live in “an actual house.” Minjoong’s mother shared the sentiment that all the apartments would be deserted for many years as a giant ghost town. “I’m afraid of sleeping in your house,” she said. She even believed in a rumor about some apartment residents in Seoul getting cancer because of perennial gas leaks in the building.

It was Minjoong’s friend Yaeji who convinced him to sell his father’s crumbling Hanok and buy the smallest unit in Chanmi Apartment. “The new era has come,” Yaeji said. She was an elementary school teacher and more importantly a cool-headed visionary who liked to tell everyone we were part of an exciting moment.

Yaeji said buying a house was like choosing a stock. Minjoong still hears her voice in his dreams, saying “You will be thankful when the apartment’s value skyrockets in the future.” His house was a wise investment. She was right about that. However, he never managed to sell it and live as a millionaire. People viewed Minjoong as a clipped parrot inside a gilded cage.

When Minjoong first met Yaeji at a coffee shop, she was holding the first translated copy of The Wealth of Nations. She seemed itching to finish the book instead of hearing another story of a son who was programmed to be obedient to whatever his parents told him to do.

Yaeji came to the coffee shop because her mom begged her to “just talk to a boy once a month and see what happens.” The mother thought Yaeji would lose her “market value” after the age of twenty-five. “Your marriage luck is outstanding this year. I asked a really famous mudang last week. Try not to ruin everything,” the mother said. Yaeji complied because she knew the only way to win the argument was to stop arguing.

Yaeji gazed out the window, and Minjoong told her, “This is my first time in a coffee shop.” Yaeji turned and said nothing. He wanted to make their interaction worthwhile. He would have never come to the café if it weren’t for his uncle’s request. Otherwise, he wouldn’t pay a hundred won for merely a cup of muddy water.

“Do you mean this place? I come here once a month. It’s great for reading,” Yaeji said. Minjoong thought of an old copy of Choe Inhun’s novel in his backpack. He almost took it out, but Yaeji moved on to another topic.

“What do you think about our country? I don’t mean politically. I mean economically. Do you think we can be like America?”

Minjoong had never received this kind of question before. Maybe Korea could be modernized in a hundred years. He often dreamed of moving to the US after finishing graduate school. His older cousin had become a professor at the University of Wisconsin last year. Everyone in the family talked about him like he would become the next president of our country. Like he would come back to save us all from this land of misery.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think we can be like America. Maybe many years later. We have so many problems. Our students can’t even demonstrate against the government. Last year, my professor slapped me for speaking out against the regime. He did that in front of two hundred people. I don’t know if I could say we’re on the right path. I really don’t know.”

“I said not politically. Mmm, I know what you’re trying to say, though. So you’re a skeptic. You think all problems are stemming from our corrupt system. What if the president is gone? Dead. Right now. Do you think we can change?”

“Why do you ask me?” Minjoong felt uneasy answering her questions. He was scared to dig deeper and find what really mattered to transform and revolutionize society. His body turned toward the exit, but he still wanted to know more about Yaeji. He wondered how she could be that blunt about everything in her head. Her personality was of a different breed.

For more than three years, Minjoong and Yaeji met at the same coffee shop every month. They always had loads of questions for each other—mostly about the politics and economic situations of their country. Although their parents thought the two were dating, the couple was not interested in romantic relationships. The two simply talked and talked until Yaeji moved to the US to study economics. Since then, she had never visited her home country. They exchanged letters a few times a year. Minjoong thought her honesty was finally being appreciated. That made him smile.

“We will now begin the demolition. Please leave the building, Mr. Minjoong Kim. Please understand there is nothing we can do to help you,” a suited man shouted through a loudspeaker. Minjoong opened his eyes and realized he had the same nightmare. In his silent room, he could still hear the sound of an army of excavators. He stood up and walked to the kitchen. He turned the electric kettle on and poured hot water into the cup with a green teabag. He sat down with the tea and focused on the earthy fragrance. After a few sips, he looked down and started sniffling. Tears were coming out of his eyes.