The Boat That Comes Once a Day

[Series: Life Like a Panorama - Guleopdo, Incheon] Ep. 1 The Boat That Comes Once a Day

16 years of friendship already. I couldn't believe the number, so I counted it again and again. The trip to Guleopdo started at a fried chicken joint. A gathering that felt more like a proof of life.

"Are you doing okay?"

"How have you been lately?"

We slowly unpacked these words over a glass of beer that night. We’ve known each other since college. 16 years already. Counting it out in numbers made me chuckle for some reason. When did we get this old?

The conversation drifted to our trip to Mongolia.

"That was a great time."

That single phrase lingered over the table for a long while.

"Hey. Should we go on a trip together?"

And just like that, it was decided. A backpacking trip, something neither of us had ever done before.

Crushed by a Busy Life

I’ve always believed I was a planner, but strangely, whenever a trip comes up, I become completely clueless. From across the phone I casually answered, his familiar yet booming voice rang out. (He’s been living in Seoul for 16 years, but he’s still a Busan guy to the bone, speaking with a heavy Busan accent. Though, of course, he insists he speaks standard Korean.)

Even up until the day before, I hadn't looked into anything properly. I was simply too busy. I ended up wandering around Daiso at the last minute. They didn’t have a sleeping mat, so in a panic, I scoured Karrot (a local secondhand app) late at night.

The result of desperation. Luckily, there was a seller nearby offering a mat at a great price, so I was able to grab it.

'It’ll work out somehow.'

Trips have always been like that for me. Things rarely go exactly as planned. But strangely enough, the most memorable moments always happen in the spaces where things go a little wrong.

Departure

Even up until the morning of departure, my mind wasn't entirely at ease. A year and a half since founding the company. It had also been nearly half a year since my co-founder joined. The community we were running was preparing for its third cohort. Through friends and social media, we had somehow managed to keep the wheels turning.

But this cohort was different. The phase of relying on acquaintances and pulling in people we knew was pretty much over. Now, strangers had to find us on their own. Yet, there were still so many things that needed fixing. I couldn’t even set my priorities straight. The thoughts of what to do first kept tangling up in my head.

Above all, the newsletter was weighing heavily on my mind. The writing that I had been doing like a routine. The task right in front of me. I left the house without being able to publish it.

Baggage

'I need to do this too.'

'And I need to do that.'

Those thoughts hung heavy on my shoulders, weighing even more than my overstuffed backpack. Incheon Port was strangely quiet. Perhaps because it was a weekday, there was hardly anyone around. In the vast waiting room, my footsteps echoed with a slight delay. The floors were clean, and the air felt empty.

Stepping out toward the docks, the smell of oil hit me. It was a scent mixed with the ocean breeze. The boat came only once a day. That phrase strangely stuck in my mind. Once a day. If you miss it, that's it. If you board it, there’s no turning back.

The boat started to move. The mainland slowly pushed away. The buildings shrank, and the deserted port faded into the background. I glanced at my phone for a moment. There were no new notifications. Yet, my mind remained anchored to the mainland. Even without notifications, it felt like something was constantly buzzing in my head.

Things to Do

This is not the time to be doing this. But the boat had already left. The sea was wider than I thought. Waves crashed against the side of the hull. The salty scent mixed into the wind.

As we cut through the water, gliding forward, there were many nameless islands passing by.

'Do people live there, too?'

On that tiny piece of land, is there someone cooking breakfast, hanging laundry, and waiting for someone to return?

My friend was also staring at the ocean. His face looked a bit worn out from parenting and daily life. He mentioned that it felt like his mind was finally clearing up. I nodded in agreement. Clearing up was exactly the right word.

But inside, I was still filled with worries. In my bag were ill-prepared gear, and in my head was an unpublished piece of writing. There were also tasks I had left in the hands of my co-founder. The feeling of running away and the feeling of setting out on a journey alternated in my mind.

Still, the sea kept getting wider. The mainland kept shrinking. Eventually, unable to overcome my anxiety, I did a bit of writing on the boat before dozing off for a moment.

How long had I slept? When I opened my eyes, it was already time to get off. The three-odd hours had passed in a flash. In front of a tiny port just big enough for a single boat, there were people waiting to greet us.

The Greeting

Deeply tanned village men. Trucks. Hands loading luggage. Faces that had been waiting for the people getting off the boat that comes only once a day. Amidst them was a young girl. She looked at us as if she knew a secret.

We loaded our gear onto the truck. Before long, we were dropped off in front of the village head's house. It seemed the custom here was to start with a meal at his place upon arrival. As we were unloading our bags from the truck, someone casually pulled their car up. They stayed in their car, listening to the village head speak.

When the village head spotted him, his voice grew loud.

"Why are you eavesdropping!"

The person drove off without seeming particularly startled. In that moment, an odd thought crossed my mind.

'There must be unseen tensions even on this island.'

But soon, the smell of food washed those thoughts away.

A truly tranquil household. As we opened the door, the smell of cooking rice and the hiss-hiss sound of a pressure cooker hard at work welcomed us first. A sudden wave of hunger hit me. The lady of the house smiled and showed us to our seats. She told us to sit down quickly, saying she would serve food soon.

Roasted seaweed. Stir-fried filefish. Spicy fish stew. White rice.

We picked up our spoons without a word. Only when the rice entered my mouth did I realize how hungry I actually was. Right then, a photo hanging on the living room wall caught my eye.

Black and White Photo

It was a large black-and-white photo. Its condition was unusually pristine. In the picture were a young man and woman. Plain clothing. Long hair. Smiling faces.

At first, I thought they were their son and daughter-in-law. Or maybe their daughter and son-in-law. But the more I looked, the more familiar they seemed. They resembled the village head who had brought us here earlier. When I asked, they told me it was a picture of the two of them in their youth.

I looked back and forth between the photo and the people in the living room. The faces in the photo were a fresh, young couple about my age. The faces right in front of me were deeply etched with time.

Time

I live my life constantly reminding myself that time flies. Even from a young age, I instinctively knew that life is short. Yet, this was the first time those truths were laid out so starkly in a single room.

The two young people in the picture. The same two people serving us a meal right now. And my friend of 16 years sitting next to me.

We were once the guys who had just entered college, giggling every night. There was a time when we had nothing. Now, one of us is raising a child, and the other is running a company. The island seemed to remain the same, while only the people had moved on so much.

I looked at the photo one more time. Unable to set my spoon down, I sank into thought for a moment.

I thought I had taken a boat to leave the mainland behind, but the first thing I encountered upon arriving wasn't the sea.

It was time.

(Fin.)