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Reasons You Should Stay Away from Jeonju: An Essay
—by Lee Jihoon
Whatever you do, do not let your boss talk you into going on a three day trip to Jeonju. Your boss will flash you a smile and you will accept the offer in a moment of weakness, and then your boss will tell you that you’re not going alone, but with a colleague. Your boss will tell you that all the expenses are covered, and proceed to walk out of your office with a smug smile after effectively ruining your life.
“How does this sound?” Jeonghan walks into Jihoon’s office with the histrionics of ten theatre troupe members. “Three day trip to Jeonju. Leave on Monday morning, come back Wednesday evening.”
“No.”
“Come on! Get some fresh air away from the city. Enjoy some traditional stuff, realign your energies! Come back fresh and write me a column about it,” he sends a wink Jihoon’s way. Jihoon frowns. He sometimes wishes Jeonghan’s persuasion methods were less effective. Then again, if they were, neither of them would be where they are today.
You see, Jihoon is in charge of the travel column of the well-known (Un)true magazine. He was hired as an editor by the founder himself. Said founder flashed him a smile and convinced him to try to write a travel column about Busan’s most niche tourist-traps a few months ago, and Jihoon, a mere mortal, and also a Busan native, did exactly that. The column got a lot more attention than anyone ever expected, and Jihoon’s job description changed from editor to columnist. Also, the aforementioned founder is now trying to convince Jihoon to go on a three day trip to Jeonju.
“I just came back from my trip to Jeonnam. I haven’t even finished the green tea field column,” Jihoon doesn’t know why he even tries. What Jeonghan wants, Jeonghan gets. He knows this.
“You got five days to finish it, that’s enough, right?” And there goes the smile, the one that Jeonghan uses to get everyone else in trouble and himself out of it.
“Fine, but I’m planning my own itinerary.”
“Fantastic,” Jeonghan’s smile grows mischievous as he starts walking backwards out of Jihoon’s office. “All expenses are covered, as you know. Oh right, almost forgot, Jeonju is known for its food, so Soonyoung is gonna go with you. We need more food column content. Have fun!”
If Jihoon spends the rest of the day with his fingers clenched around a panda-shaped stress ball, then that’s for him alone to know and deal with.
If you are taking the KTX from Seoul Station, do not buy tickets for the first train. It will be so early that you will be half asleep, and the good coffee shops in the station will not be open. It will also be negative a thousand degrees despite the fact that it’s only late October. He will bring you coffee that he made at home in a tiger print travel mug that you will have to carry for the rest of the day. He will also try to give you his jacket even if you have your own.
Soonyoung behaves like a rookie. It doesn’t help that this is the first column he has to travel to write. He’s practically vibrating with excitement while they wait for the train. What Jihoon thinks of him is that he is, simply, too much. Almost 180 centimeters of child-like wonder. He makes Jihoon feel like it’s noon and the sun is shining hot directly above his head, even though it’s fucking freezing outside and it’s not even 6:30 in the morning.
That’s right. The midday sun is annoying. It’s intrusive, so much so that in some parts of the world it casts no shadows. It makes you close your eyes, or reach up to cover them with your hands. It burns your skin without you noticing. It makes you sweat. More than anything, it makes you notice its presence. And Jihoon can’t help but do exactly that. When Soonyoung is around, he can’t stop noticing.
If you choose to stay at a hanok in the Hanok Village, and you make a reservation for a room with ondol beds—basically sleeping directly on a floor that has underground heating—move too much in your sleep and you will not fall to the ground. Instead, you will wake up the next morning somewhere in the middle of the room, stuck head to toe to him, with a crick in your neck, and drenched in sweat because he runs hot. After that moment, it will burn every time he touches you. A hand on your lower back as he urges you to walk ahead down the street lined with old, traditional houses. A hand on your shoulder as he takes a picture of both of you with his phone. A hand brushing against yours when you walk too close together among throngs of people.
Therefore, avoid booking a hanok, and if it is, for whatever reason, unavoidable, book a room with the other type of bed.
Jihoon can’t help but notice. Soonyoung is well liked, because he’s kind. He’s funny. He is full of things that spill out of him at all times. He pulls people into his sphere. Jihoon notices his lack of experience and the burning passion that makes up for it. Jihoon is not an idiot, he’s not oblivious. He notices the way Soonyoung looks at him, with bright eyes and fascination. He notices how Soonyoung listens to him, like Jihoon is a puzzle that he wants to put together. Soonyoung pays attention to him like he wants to figure him out. Jihoon doesn’t get it, but he can’t help himself either. Like a telluric planet, he is helplessly pulled close into Soonyoung’s orbit.
Do not, under any circumstances, let him get you on a bus for two hours to go to Naejangsan National Park. He will tell you that it’s one of the main fall foliage destinations in the country. He will not be lying. The tips of his ears and nose will match the red of the autumn leaves. The rest spots will be covered with orange and yellow. Surrounded by warm colors, he will look golden. Your brain will short circuit and you will think this is his real form, the outside now reflects the way he is on the inside.
He’ll hold your hand so you don’t slip on dead leaves. When you fall, he will fall with you.
If you do not want to get on the bus back to Jeonju with wet socks and dirty clothes, then do not let him take you to Naejangsan National Park.
Here is one thing to know about (Un)true : not a single article, column or review written in every issue’s 32 pages is fully true. A general rule for every author involved is simply: no truths. Half-truths are tolerated. Subtle lies. Blatant lies. Columns written in antonyms. Articles full of metaphor. Interviews overflowing with deception. Never fully true, always somewhat untrue. That’s right. Only one person would be capable of founding a magazine and making a living out of never telling the truth to the general public. The same person who runs the romantic advice section, actually. Jihoon has tried to read it several times, and given up with a headache every single time. The worst part is, they have a special mailbox for people who send letters about how the romantic advice section has helped them find true love. The mailbox is always full. Jihoon swears, only one person .
To top it all off, the public knows this. The public knows about the lies and they eat them out of the palm of—only one person—Yoon Jeonghan’s hand. Every single product, place, or event reviewed in (Un)true becomes unfathomably popular, whether the review is good (bad) or bad (good). Their number of copies sold increases every month. They get requests now, from people who want them to review inventions, artistic creations, other publications… It is, all in all, complete and abject insanity.
Stay away from Deokjin Park. Said park is split in half by a bridge. To one side, water. To the other side, water, except completely covered by lotus leaves. Don’t go to Deokjin Park. In October, there will be no lotus flowers. Just an endless expanse of lotus leaves.
Don’t let him convince you to rent a duck-shaped paddle boat. It’s harder than it seems to get it to move. He will do most of the work. You will not be able to get the image of denim over skin over strong muscle out of your head.
Refuse when he tries to drag you to the smaller, wooden bridge that cuts across the lotus half of the lake. You will find a pagoda halfway through the bridge. Once you reach it, he will talk to you about how the lotus, a plant that grows in water, has leaves that repel it. About the act of rebellion that is repelling that which gives you life, that which is your home.
This is an important one—whatever you do, don’t fall in love shipwrecked in the middle of a lotus ocean in Deokjin Park.
Jihoon imagines the passage of time, and the arrival of winter. By his birthday, the lotus leaves will shrivel. By the new year, the lake will be frozen over. It’s selfish of them, Jihoon thinks, to let him lie down over them, to let him jump from one to the other across the lake, to hold him up above the water when he takes one look at Soonyoung and falls, and keeps falling. And then to shrivel and wither, and leave him sinking into the freezing lake.
Maybe, though, the lake won’t freeze over. Maybe the lotus leaves will wither, but remain, and maybe that’ll be enough for them to carry Jihoon’s weight as he continues falling.
Refuse to go to Nambu Market with a foodie. He will not be satisfied before he eats it all, and in this night market there is a lot to eat. A variety of street food that makes you want to taste all of it, but that you have no real empty space for in your stomach. Jeonju is known for its bibimbap. Do not order it. He will ask for extra gochujang and it will turn his lips red. You won’t be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the night. Jeonju is also known for its makgeolli. If you don’t like wine, you won’t like rice wine. Do not let him drink it. You will be able to taste it on his tongue when he pulls you into an empty alley to kiss you against the wall.
Jihoon likes it when things are familiar. He likes it when he can figure things out, when he can give them a name and classify them in his head, when they become routine. There’s comfort in taking his subway card out of his wallet at the top of the escalator and playing with it, letting it slide in between his fingers until he presses it against the sensor. There is comfort in lining his belongings up on the counter after taking his shoes off when he enters his apartment. Wallet, phone, earphones, pocket change, in that order.
There is nothing familiar about lying under Soonyoung as he thrusts in and out of him and breathes against his neck. Nothing for Jihoon to feel any semblance of control, and it’s driving him well and truly insane. His face is buried in the crook of his arm, his lips bruised and bitten red. He savors the taste of the unfamiliar while he lets Soonyoung fuck the life out of him, and thinks about how he can’t pretend to hate the idea of making this, too, into a routine.
If you go to Jeonju, it will come back home with you. There will be lotus flowers stuck in your throat. There will be red leaves tangled in your hair. There will be underground heating under your skin at all times. So put your foot down, and refuse when your boss tells you about a three day trip to the Perfect Region.
“So? What’s the verdict on Jeonju?” asks Jeonghan, leaning against the doorframe of Jihoon’s office with the poise of a magician trying to sell tricks, glint in his eye and everything.
Jihoon narrows his eyes at him. He hasn’t written it yet, but he still replies with, “Read my column to find out.”
That smile again. That self-assured, cocky smile that would have Jihoon’s right eye twitching if he wasn’t so familiar with it already.
“My Acknowledgements of Successful Romantic Interventions mailbox is full, as you know, so feel free to shoot me a text whenever you’re ready. Take your time, no pressure,” says Jeonghan, sending a wink Jihoon’s way and walking away like the despicable, impossibly charming man that he is.
Reasons You Should Stay Away from Jeonju: An Essay, Jihoon types into the blank document. He’s trying to think of a good opening phrase when Jeonghan walks back into his office and drops a paper on his desk.
“Soonyoung’s column for this week’s issue. Thank me later.”
A Step by Step Guide to Conquering Jeonju’s Gastronomic Treasure: Bibimbap
—by Kwon Soonyoung
Step one: egg yolk
He’s blunt. His words are sharp and they cut into you and everyone else. Where his words leave wounds, some people will grow respect. Some people will grow admiration. You don’t need his words to cut into you to grow those, you grew them the moment you saw him for the first time. When his words dig into your skin, all you have inside is affection that gushes out and spills everywhere. Cut into the egg yolk and let it coat the rice. Let it spill everywhere.
Step two: gochujang
Contrary to what your first impression probably was, he smiles easy. Pour more gochujang than strictly necessary into your bowl. Take a bite and breathe through your mouth to dispel the burning on your tongue. You’re not great with spicy food, but it’s a fair price to pay to watch his smile soften around the edges. Ask for more gochujang to see the variation of his smile that comes with raised eyebrows. Your whole mouth might be numb by the end, but if his is stretched into a smile across his face, then it’s worth it.
Step three: mixing
He’s a perfectionist. So are you. Take your spoon and mix all the ingredients in your bowl except one. Watch a frown appear on his face. You are going to be able to hear his voice in your head, Why would you mix everything but the carrots? But he won’t ask yet. He’s giving you the benefit of the doubt. Wait it out. Watch the question rise up from his lungs into his windpipe, watch it rest on the tip of his tongue. Once it’s there, mix the ingredient that you left out with everything else. Watch the question dissipate. Watch his frown dissolve into approval.
Step four: chopsticks
He feels safe within familiarity. He feels safe within ritual and routine. You want so desperately to shake the earth under his feet, to make him wonder, to make him curious. Put your spoon down and take the chopsticks. Eat your bibimbap with them like an unknowing foreigner would. Watch him grow curious. Watch him watch you. Show him that unfamiliar doesn’t mean unknowable. Show him that there’s something for him outside ritual and routine. Watch him put his spoon down and reach for his chopsticks instead.
Step five: heat
He is impatient. His leg will vibrate under the table, and his fingers will tap tap tap against it. Bibimbap is, obviously, served burning hot. You want to put him together. You want to know what it looks like inside his head. You want to feel his impatience. Don’t wait. Let the scalding food burn the roof of your mouth. Let the heat spread through the rest of your body. This won’t be a foreign sensation: it feels like this when he looks at you too.