Window to the Seoul

NONFICTION

by Bailey Savatgy

I’ve never been there before and yet I can see it so perfectly in my mind’s eye. The streets are dewy with freshly fallen rain, the sun has long since set, and red neon lights are reflecting off the shallow puddles like a silver mirror. The lush, tender aroma of galbi floats through the air as red hot tteokbokki hiccups and boils inside its little black cauldron. Each layer of fragrance feels so familiar, like I could pick out every single ingredient no matter how faint or subtle it may be. From the light lick of licorice that gganip leaves emit to the bold, sizzling bite of gochugaru, I find myself craving flavors I’ve never actually tasted before. I imagine galbi melting on my tongue and tteokbokki burning my senses as I eat my American cheeseburger with pickles on the side. I wonder if the rain on the sidewalk reflects light the same way six thousand miles away, or if the night sky is the same shade of obsidian that I see here. I sit in my childhood bedroom and look at the light seeping from the neighbor’s windows, wondering how far I’ll have to go to get a closer look into that little window of Seoul.