The bus terminal is full of people. The government designated Sul, the Lunar New Year, to be the “traditional” New Year, and encouraged citizens to observe the first of January instead, the “new” New Year. But people still travel in droves to visit family on Sul. Today is the last day of the holiday, so people are flocking to the terminal to return to work: sleepy complaining children; cough cough—a young man who can’t stop his rattly cough; grandmothers and grandfathers seeing off their children and their children’s children; a middleaged lady with a bundled package on top of her head handing the load off to someone else; a chainsmoking old man; a middle-aged man coughing and spitting up phlegm … Sol and I leave the waiting room and walk toward the river. The sky is gloomy and dark. It looks like it will pour at any moment.

“The river where they scattered her ashes—that was Gyungho River, right?”

“Yes, we were both there.”

“Should we go to her parents’ place and say hello? Do you know where they live?”

“No! You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

“I want to ask them a few questions about her.”

“Think about it. Do you really think they’d like it if we just barged in and started asking questions? Leave them alone.”

“I can’t decide if you overthink everything or just do everything on a whim. Let’s go to the river then. We can cross the bridge over there, right?” She looks up. “It looks like it’s about to rain, let’s hurry.”

Sol walks ahead of me, swinging a large bag in her hand as her black trenchcoat flutters around her body. Every time she steps on her left foot, her entire body slumps to the left as though the earth’s axis were tilting. Walking behind her, I worry she’ll fall on a patch of ice in the road and end up in tears.

* * *

I met Sol last May. We were singing “Marching Song for My Love” after watching the documentary about the May 18th Gwangju student protest that a few Sunbes had screened in the school theater.

“The burning oath we made: let’s push on, leaving behind love, fame, and even names,” we sang. The Sunbe with a microphone led the chanting, singing the phrase first, and the freshmen echoed him. We pumped our right hands, determined but restrained.