Jeong Min-na’s diary
At times, corpses are washed ashore. Still damp young crabs, and the dried bones of squid. Too white, too small… even if you magnify the traces of life, they crumble into a handful of wind sounds…
The great fish of the vast sea vanish after waging war, while the small fish caught in the net lie crushed beneath. When the net spreads wide, a few large fish pierce through the storm and slip away, while only the young crabs—like tender shoots just breaking through the spring soil—are lifted up.
The bodies of young crabs, discarded into the sea, float gently to the surface and drift toward the sandy shore. Beside Dad’s sea, on the sand, a mound of corpses of empty hands quietly gathers.
