(Epilogue) Lines - Saudi Arabia

[Different Time, Same Question] Vol.3 Lines - Saudi Arabia

I returned to Korea. Everything was right at my fingertips. Take one step, and there was a convenience store; take two steps, and there was a café.

Struggling Through

From my first day back at work, I was out of breath. For a completely different reason than in Saudi Arabia. The office felt like an old stock exchange. Voices rising in shouts, monitor screens flashing brightly, and everyone running without a moment's rest.

Dealing with a mountain of piled-up work, the silence of Ramadan was completely forgotten. The office pantry overflowed with snacks. Whenever I wanted, I could grab and eat anything. Thinking back to chewing on donuts secretly behind closed curtains with stifled giggles felt ridiculous now.

Even though I didn't have many fond memories of it, I soon found myself missing this quiet road. Countless people walked the streets. An impeccably neat and clean city. Even if you wore clothes that half-exposed your sides, no one batted an eye. A place where you could eat anything, wear anything, and do anything. Having what you want, right when you want it. That is what they called freedom.

I didn't stop either. Finally, just before midnight, I wrapped up my overtime work and stepped outside. I walked down the empty street. Suddenly, a strange thought crept into my mind.

'Why does this freedom make me so exhausted?'

'Why did they seem freer in comparison?'

Under the scorching sun where everything was forbidden. During the days of Ramadan when not even a sip of water was allowed. Clapping their hands while waiting for the sun to set, and then hungrily devouring the mountains of food they had piled up. I remembered myself clicking my tongue at them initially.

'If you're going to eat like this, why even fast?'

But looking back, their nights were incredibly bright. Children ran around holding balloons. Even at 1 AM, the streets were filled with laughter. The smile of the stranger who wrote my name in Arabic at a calligraphy stall. Because there were restrictions, the moment of release turned into a festival. Because there was stillness, the movement came alive.

Dates (Bateel)

Dates brought all the way from Saudi Arabia. I bought a whole bunch as gifts for my coworkers. I set them out in the pantry alongside some Greek yogurt (which I bought in Korea, afraid it would spoil on the way). I told them that locals eat dates dipped in yogurt like this.

My coworkers gathered around in a huddle. They picked up the crispy dates, examining them from every angle with puzzled expressions.

"You want us to dip it like this? Really?"

One of them carefully dipped it into the yogurt and took a bite. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Wow, this is an eye-opening flavor. It really wakes you up."

"Oh! It tastes like sweet yogurt ice cream!"

Since I didn't have a picture, I made one with AI to help explain. Everyone laughed and enjoyed it. A fruit that is hard even to hear about, let alone taste, in Korea.

"Does it taste like jujube?" one coworker asked.

Watching this scene gave me a strange feeling. A single piece of food can transmit an entire culture. And suddenly, it hit me. The very first thing the people in Saudi Arabia offered their guests was dates. A silent greeting that says, 'You are welcome here.' The first act of kindness extended to a stranger. What I was doing right now in the office pantry—was exactly what they had been doing.

The pantry was already overflowing with snacks. But the only thing that made my coworkers' eyes light up was this one unfamiliar fruit.

Lines

After that, my thoughts kept returning to the concept of 'lines'. I've heard it countless times in my life. Don't do that. Don't cross that. Don't overstep.

The lines my parents drew when I was young. The lines my teachers drew in school. The lines my bosses drew at work. The lines drawn by religion. The lines drawn by the law. Even the lines that rise up within myself, without anyone teaching me.

Those lines suffocated me. At times, I was utterly sick of them. If I was told not to do something, I wanted to do it even more. If I was told not to cross a line, I felt compelled to cross it anyway. I believed that was what freedom meant.

But this time, for some reason, the streets of Saudi Arabia kept coming to mind. The empty roads under the blistering sun. The hours where not even a sip of water was allowed. A place where the strictest lines in the world were drawn.

Yet, the applause and laughter that erupted as soon as the sun went down. Within those lines, they somehow seemed more fulfilled.

Restrictions were not oppression. For thousands of years, forged on barren sands, they were the minimum safeguards needed to protect oneself and each other.

We live in a world where everything is permitted. We can eat whenever, drink whenever, and work whenever. Because of this, we can't stop. And because we can't stop, we burn out.

I didn't know it when I was young. The lines my parents drew, the lines my teachers drew, the lines that rose up within me— they weren't walls meant to imprison me, but fences built to protect me.

For those of us who run endlessly, we also need to set our own limits to pause. That pausing is what actually sets us free. In that city where I had to close the curtains just to eat, I learned that being open to everything isn't the only form of freedom.

(Series [Different Time, Same Question - Saudi Arabia] Fin.)