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Chapter 7
1. Hit the Road, Jack (6)
The diary of Song Minjun, a nineteen-year-old by Korean age and eighteen by American age, was rather depressing.
While reading it, I noticed the year written on the cover. After searching the bookshelf, I found several older diaries hidden behind the books.
After skimming through them, it seemed he had started writing diaries after his father passed away.
There were entries about his mother, who used to always smile, becoming exhausted from work, and about being mocked by classmates during gym class because he wore socks that had been patched up too many times.
When you’re a teenager, things that seem trivial to adults often become the biggest worries in your world.
“Seriously, kid. I didn’t even wear socks for the first time until I was twelve.”
I used to walk around barefoot.
There were many kids like me in my hometown, so nobody thought it was strange.
Only after I lost my eyesight and my parents sent me to a segregated school did I first wear a uniform and socks.
Back then, I was so used to worn-out leather shoes and bare feet that I waddled awkwardly like a dog wearing shoes for the first time.
Sigh. What’s the point of thinking about that now?
Even when I was young, I hated hearing adults talk about how hard their childhoods were.
Kids these days probably feel the same.
As the contents of the diary matched the memories I had absorbed from Minjun, deeper memories naturally resurfaced.
After reading to the final page, I walked back out into the living room.
Subin was in the master bedroom, dancing while watching TV.
“I got finger-licking venom!”
She swayed her body while dancing.
Kids her age should be singing nursery rhymes, not doing dances like that.
Even if she tried acting sexy with that tiny body, it only looked cute.
‘But she’s singing in English?’
Quietly, I walked behind her and leaned against the wall while she remained completely absorbed in dancing.
On TV, a four-member girl group was performing, and Subin was copying their choreography perfectly.
I got distracted watching my adorable little sister, but the melody coming from the TV kept tickling my ears.
‘This is Black music.’
Well, it’s not like Asians aren’t allowed to make Black music, so whatever.
Still, it sounded pretty good.
It felt like hip-hop, but with a sexier atmosphere.
Without realizing it, I spoke.
“Who’s that?”
“Mom! You scared me!”
Startled, Subin collapsed dramatically onto the floor.
Her face bright red, she glared at me.
“You’re like a ghost! At least make some noise when you walk around!”
“Ah, sorry.”
“Hmph.”
She must have danced incredibly hard because she was drenched in sweat.
“But really, who are they?”
“You don’t know the Circle of Life?”
“No. That’s why I asked.”
“Oppa only listens to old songs all the time. If you don’t listen to modern music these days, you get left out at school.”
“Are they popular?”
“Yeah, super popular. One of the members blew up at a water bomb event last year, so now they’re completely trending.”
“Which one?”
Subin pointed at the darker-skinned member among the pretty girls dancing on TV.
“This one.”
“She’s American?”
“What are you talking about? They’re a K-pop girl group. Well, foreign idols exist these days too, but all of them are fully Korean.”
That’s strange.
If they mixed Korean and English, I’d understand, but the song was entirely in English.
Why would a Korean girl group sing an English song?
Before I could ask further, Subin stood back up and resumed dancing while explaining.
“K-pop is huge worldwide these days. They’re targeting the global market, so the lyrics are all in English. It’s hard to memorize, though.”
Ah, I see.
But K-pop is dominating globally.
That was completely new to me.
Searching through Minjun’s memories, I recalled several Korean groups that were hugely popular worldwide.
Even the small fragments I remembered were things unimaginable back in 2004 when I was alive.
An Asian singer topping Billboard charts instead of Europeans or Americans?
At the same time, it made sense.
Even to my ears, which had spent a lifetime immersed in American music, it sounded good.
Music has always been divided into only two categories:
Good music and bad music.
Race, nationality, and genre never mattered.
A sudden curiosity came over me.
“Subin.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you listen to pop music too?”
“Of course.”
“What do you listen to?”
“Lately? Chris Loon.”
Who’s that?
That doesn’t even sound like an American name.
“You like him?”
“Yeah, a lot.”
“What about older singers?”
“I know some. Like the Beatles.”
I smiled slightly and asked,
“What about Ray Robinson?”
Subin stopped dancing and turned around.
“Who’s that?”
“……”
You don’t know me?
I topped Billboard charts like it was nothing and won every major award imaginable.
Well… she’s young.
She wasn’t even born in 2004 when I died.
‘Thinking about it makes me curious.’
How does history remember me?
I quietly took out my phone.
Since I now knew from Minjun’s memories that this thing could access the internet, I might as well use it.
I searched my name.
Then frowned.
‘What is this?’
Sugar Ray Robinson.
A boxer appeared instead.
I knew that boxer, too. He was a legendary fighter who entered the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 1990.
But seeing him take over my name irritated me.
I scrolled down further.
And the farther I scrolled, the stiffer my face became.
‘Nothing?’
Impossible.
I opened another search engine and searched again.
Still, only the boxer appeared.
Maybe I hadn’t traveled into the future of my original world at all.
Maybe this was an entirely different parallel world where singer Ray Robinson never existed.
‘That makes no sense.’
Then what about this boxer?
I know this guy!
Why am I the only one missing?
Surely my lifelong friend B.B. King still exists, right?
I searched B.B. King’s name.
A face I had never seen with my own eyes appeared on the screen.
Damn, he was bigger than I imagined.
Apparently he died in 2015.
That old man was five years older than me yet lived eleven years longer.
What a long life.
No, that’s not the issue.
If B.B. King exists, why am I the only one erased?
Then what happened to my songs?
All those songs I created while desperately clinging to the piano despite being blind—
What happened to them?
I searched the song titles.
Hit the road, Jack.
I Got a Woman.
I Can’t Stop Loving You.
Georgia on My Mind.
Not a single song remained.
I was more shocked now than when I first realized I’d awakened in the body of a Korean boy.
Watching me frantically searching the internet while gripping my phone, Subin placed her hands on her hips and said,
“Oppa, you’re always nagging me to stop using my phone so much, but now you’re staring at yours nonstop?”
“……”
Little sister, that’s not the problem right now.
My very existence has been denied.
Do you know what it feels like to have your entire seventy-three years erased from history?
***
I stayed awake the entire night.
I couldn’t fall asleep at all.
I heard Mother come home around two in the morning, but I just kept my eyes shut and pretended to sleep.
The shock of realizing my entire life had vanished without leaving behind a single trace was unbearable.
At seven in the morning, the phone alarm rang.
Even though I still didn’t know how to use it properly, my hands moved automatically and turned it off.
I got up with hollow eyes and rubbed my face dryly.
“A world where I don’t exist…”
Why?
Did heaven erase me completely because I committed too many sins in my previous life?
Sure, I spent twenty years on drugs and chased plenty of women, but was that enough to erase my existence entirely?
At that moment, the bedroom door opened, revealing a face warm enough to comfort anyone just by looking at it.
“Minjun, you’re awake? You need to go to school.”
Right. School.
I still attend school now.
Going to school at seventy years old is insane.
Actually… ninety?
“Yes…”
I didn’t want to go, but my body moved automatically.
Even though I hadn’t slept and felt half-delirious, eighteen years of habit made everything natural.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, changed into my uniform, and stood in front of the mirror.
Seriously.
This kid is unbelievably handsome, no matter how many times I look.
When I stepped into the living room, breakfast had already been prepared on a low table spread across the floor.
The delicious smell filled the room.
As someone who had lived as an American my entire life, these foods were unfamiliar, but Minjun’s body reacted instinctively to the scent.
Mother sat down in front of us, carrying an egg dish and shouted,
“Song Subin! Come eat! You need to go to school!”
The master bedroom door slowly opened, revealing Subin crawling out sluggishly like a caterpillar.
Her face was adorably swollen from sleep.
Rubbing her barely open eyes, she walked into the living room.
“Morning, Oppa.”
“Yeah. Morning.”
The three of us started eating together.
Maybe I had experienced moments like this long ago too, but I couldn’t remember them anymore.
Still, eating together with a mother and sibling felt happy.
At least during meals.
“Minjun, did your practical exam go well? Remember, thirty percent depends on your CSAT score too, so don’t stop studying. Some students fail over a single point.”
“Yes.”
“How did the Hongin University exam go yesterday?”
Mother looked exhausted.
Since I had stayed awake all night, I knew exactly what she had done.
She moved around quietly so she wouldn’t wake the children, but I still heard everything.
The sounds of her showering.
Walking back and forth through the living room.
She came home shortly after two, cleaned up, organized some things, and finally went to sleep around four in the morning.
Now it was seven.
She had slept barely three hours.
And despite that exhaustion, she still cared about her son.
If my own mother had lived longer, would I have experienced mornings like this too?
Simple conversations over breakfast.
Ordinary family moments.
I always wanted something like this.
In this era where I don’t exist, am I being punished?
Or rewarded?
Could these tiny moments of happiness blooming amidst confusion actually be rewards?
After finishing breakfast with my family, I left for school.
A tiny alleyway.
Our one-story house sat in a narrow lane so crowded with buildings that sunlight barely entered.
I looked down at my legs and muttered,
“Minjun’s legs, please guide me to school”
Surely his body would naturally move toward familiar places again today.
So what if I no longer exist?
Why worry?
Things always work out somehow.
That’s how I lived my entire life.
At that moment, I noticed several neighborhood women standing together with worried expressions.
Should I greet them?
I heard East Asians don’t greet strangers, so what should I do?
Thankfully, they seemed too absorbed in conversation to notice me.
I should just pass naturally.
Then their voices reached my ears.
“Jeonghee’s mom, did you hear? About the redevelopment happening down below? I think our area is included too. The landlord called today and told us to move out by the end of next year.”
“Your place too? Our landlord called yesterday as well.”
“Sigh… what are we supposed to do? We’ll never find another neighborhood this cheap. We’re all going to end up homeless.”
As I walked past, I turned back toward them.
It seemed the family and home I had only just found again might soon be taken away from me.
