"My Story (3): First Outing and Mango Watermelon – Sokkomoti, 1955"

(Written on May 24, 2021)

 

 

I thought I had shared all there was about Sokkomoti, but while driving earlier, a particular memory resurfaced, and I felt compelled to write it down. As I’ve previously mentioned, Sokkomoti was a village located across Jikji River from downtown Gimcheon. To reach the city downtown, you had to cross Jikji River and walk for about ten minutes to arrive at the local Marketplace. This market was the heart of the region’s commerce, bustling with goods coming in and out. On holidays or ritual days, the villagers would flock there to shop.

 

One day, I persistently begged my mother to let me tag along to the market. Although my memory isn’t crystal clear, I believe I was about three or four years old at the time. As we set off, my mother repeatedly gave me strict instructions:

 

"Hold my hand tight and don’t let go, no matter what. And stay by my side—don’t get distracted. The market is chaotic, and if you’re not careful, you’ll lose me."

 

With my little hand clasped tightly around hers, I walked alongside her. But stepping into the market for the first time was overwhelming. Everywhere I looked, there was something new and fascinating. My eyes darted around, wide with wonder, soaking in every detail of this bustling market. Completely enthralled, I lost track of where I was going and ended up wandering aimlessly.

 

Then, disaster struck. I thought I was holding my mother’s hand, but something didn’t feel right. When I turned around, she was nowhere in sight. Worse, I realized I wasn’t holding anyone’s hand at all. Imagine the panic of a little boy, venturing into the outside world for the first time, suddenly losing his mom. My mind went blank, and I was gripped by overwhelming fear. Frantically, I began calling out for her, my voice rising above the noise of the market, and I wandered in every direction.

 

I made every mistake a child could make. Each time I spotted someone who resembled my mother, I’d run up and call, "Mom!" only to be met with the face of another woman. This happened repeatedly. To this day, I still wonder how every older woman in that market managed to look like my mother to me. As my fear and anxiety grew, hunger set in, and tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. I must have wandered like that for two or three hours.

 

I still don’t know how my mother managed to find me, but the moment I saw her, I threw myself into her arms and broke into uncontrollable sobs. Desperate to calm me down, she bought me a small, yellow watermelon. It was the first mango watermelon I’d ever had. Strangely enough, as soon as I held that little watermelon in my hands, my tears stopped like magic. Holding my mother’s hand in one hand and the mango watermelon in the other, I happily munched on it as we walked back to Sokkomoti. I felt a profound sense of happiness, as if nothing else in the world mattered. The sweetness and flavor of that watermelon were unforgettable, wiping away all memories of the nightmare I had just endured.

 

After that experience, I became determined to join my mother on every trip to the market. But fearing she might lose me again, she never took me with her. As a result, I never had the chance to taste mango watermelon again.