Category: South Korea

Popular authors, SHORT short stories, South Korea

Tongue

!Epic Tomorrows

By Hyoungshim Choi

A temporary but urgent call to action! Centre of the Web partner Versy Talks is kindly running a free public online debate about the publishing industry from 21st to 31st May 2026. It does not take long to take part in the debate and state your opinion, and everyone is welcome! Sharing your voice will help boost both COTW and Versy Talks. Please help us grow, so that we can platform diverse and underrepresented voices from around the world. More information can be found here.

The alarm clock went off. “A new day has dawned, rise and shine everyone……” I pressed the switch. I needed to change the wake-up call on that damn alarm. 

—Did he really do that as a joke? No matter how much I think about it, our senses of humor just don’t match. It’s good that we broke up.

I muttered about this to myself as I got up and brewed some coffee. With half-closed eyes I cursorily washed the mug that was sitting by the sink. Apart from the fact that the inside had yellowed from frequent use, it was an ordinary cup. I poured the coffee into the cup. It was the same coffee that I always drink, but today it tasted incredibly bitter for some reason. 

—This is disgustingly bitter. Is it so that even the coffee is bitter just because I broke up with him?

I grumbled to myself as I gulped it down.

—Ah, stop bitching and just drink it. It tastes the same as usual.

Just as the coffee was about to go down my throat, I heard this from somewhere. 

—What the hell?!

I was so startled that I jumped out of my skin. No matter how many times I looked around, I was the only one in that broom closet of an apartment. I looked inside the washing machine, checked that the front door was locked, and even rummaged through the built-in closet. But there was not a single trace of anyone anywhere. 

—Have I been alone so long that I’m hearing things? 

It made sense, though, come to think of it. I had been stuck at home for four months now due to Covid, after all. When I first heard that I had to work from home, I cheered, just like anyone else would have. I wouldn’t have to listen to assistant manager Kim’s cheesy, cringe-inducing jokes, nor hear the shrill voice of my team leader, who was extremely irritable from all the sleepless nights taking care of a newborn baby.

However, I was disillusioned pretty quickly. Video conferences on Zoom and the like that were so boring they made my butt cramp, and the KakaoTalk (1) notifications coming through all the time under the pretext of attendance management, weren’t actually a big deal. Living alone in this cramped studio apartment for months on end without ever leaving is practically like solitary confinement. It got to the point where I even started missing the people I hated seeing! I decided to go to a cafe to get some work done for a change of scene, but the number of confirmed COVID-19 cases began exceeding 1,000 on a daily basis. Eventually, the cafe I was visiting closed down. As the number of confirmed cases surged, I started shopping online, too. As a result, I came to rely on online platforms for most of my daily requirements. 

Eventually, it got to the point where I was breaking up with my boyfriend through KakaoTalk. As soon as I saw the message that began, “If it weren’t for COVID, I’d like to meet and talk……”, I sensed that we were breaking up. I sent a reply saying, “Okay. Let’s stop seeing each other.” A long message followed, in which he rambled on about how we weren’t meant to be, told me to find someone better, and so on. I didn’t reply and coldly blocked him. Thanks to working from home, or to being confined at home, we ended things neatly and cleanly, so I should have been relieved, but I didn’t feel good at all.

I felt utterly terrible.

After finishing my coffee, I was at the sink, stirring my finger inside the cup to rinse it, when I felt something bulging out. Wondering if a grain of rice or something might have somehow gotten stuck, I looked inside the mug. However, there was something reddish rising on the white porcelain.

—What the …? 

I scratched the inside of the cup with my fingernail. 

—Ouch, I’m going to get hurt. Try to be careful. 

Right then, the voice I’d heard earlier came from out of the cup. I was so startled that I dropped it on the floor. 

—Hey, have you lost your mind? You almost broke me. No wonder you got dumped by a man. 

I was completely dumbfounded. 

—You’re only just a cup……. Who taught you such bad manners?

—Who else but you? Who’s the one who’s been talking all kinds of nonsense right in front of me every day? If I had ears, they’d have already rotted away by now.

Come to think of it, as working from home had gone on, it’s true that I had spent the days mumbling to myself the whole day with this cup in front of me. This symptom worsened especially after breaking up with my boyfriend. In the days following the breakup, I grumbled about him nonstop, pouring out curses at my cup. No wonder, since there were no cafes open even if I wanted to meet people, and since I didn’t have a friend to vent to at a time such as this……. All day long, the only things I faced were my computer and my mug. If my computer was what spoke to me, then my mug existed for me to speak to. While drinking water, while drinking coffee, I was in the habit of talking to the mug as I muttered to myself. 

—You should have just left me alone. How much pent-up frustration must I have had to have grown a tongue? 

the cup said, sighing. Hearing this, I felt sorry. Without a word, I took out a soft tea towel and carefully cleaned the cup before putting it back in the cupboard.

After that, I occasionally thought about the mug, but I never opened the cupboard. This was because I didn’t want to exchange a single word with that irritable, insolent, manners-nowhere-to-be-found jerk. Moreover, a cup with a tongue sticking out of it creeped me out so much that it just didn’t feel right to put anything in it to drink. Of course, I did think about throwing that strange thing away. But considering its personality, it was clear that if I threw it away it would blabber all sorts of things about me to anyone, so I decided to just put up with it. So I swapped my cup for a tumbler and strove to break my habit of talking to myself. I felt like I was going crazy keeping my mouth shut while just staring at the computer screen all day. But what could I do? I had to just suffer. 

—Give me some water.

It was about 2 in the morning when I heard that voice. I had finally fallen asleep after tossing and turning since 10pm, having developed insomnia due to a lack of outdoor activity. I covered my ears with the pillow and pretended I hadn’t heard. 

—Hey, I said I’m thirsty. Can‘t you hear me? 

That jerk goaded me again. It piqued my irritation. 

—Let me just sleep.

I sprang up, opened the cupboard, and shoved a tea towel in the cup. 

—What are you doing? I said I’m thirsty, thirsty! Take this thing out of me right now.

—Don’t be ridiculous. You think you’re human just because I talk to you. You’re so loud it’s driving me crazy.

I went back to bed and tried to sleep. As soon as I did, the jerk quietened down. I’d just dozed off when his sudden screaming jolted me awake. My heart was pounding. 

—What’s going on?

—I can’t breathe! Get this damn tea towel out of me.

—Ah, seriously, you’re so loud. You’re making a fuss over nothing. Do you know what time it is right now? Just be quiet. 

—Be quiet? Won’t you come over quickly and get this out of me?

—I don’t care.

I spat this out, rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a pair of earplugs and put them in, then victoriously went back to bed. But then he screamed breathlessly, at a high pitch of about two and a half octaves above normal, like a dying soprano singing a climax.

I could hear him screaming through the earplugs. 

—This is suffocating me! I said I’m thirsty!

Since the jerk wouldn’t stop screaming and raising hell, in the end I got up again and irritatedly opened the cupboard.

—This damn cup, I’ll just…… 

I picked it up and hurled it against the wall. The cup shattered with a crash. 

—Ow, I’m dying! I’m dying! 

he screamed in what seemed to be one last desperate struggle, before suddenly falling silent. At that very moment, the doorbell rang.

—Police! We’ve had reports of a domestic disturbance. 

The police, in the middle of the night! This is all because of that jerk! As annoying as it was, the problem at hand now was coming up with an excuse. 

—But what in the name of God should I say? 

I asked myself, into the wall. 

—What do you mean, what should you say? Just tell the truth. 

Out of the blue, the wall replied. I looked to face it in shock. This time, exactly where the cup had hit, a really huge tongue had sprouted. 

—Ah, seriously! Who would believe that!

I felt like I was going to lose my mind with anger and frustration. But I resolved to control myself and open the door. 

—What seems to be the problem? 

Two officers wearing black masks were standing in front of the door. I hesitated, not knowing how I should begin. Since they had eyes, I figured that if I just showed them that thing then they would understand the ridiculousness of the situation.

—Do you see that over there? The big tongue. It was originally in that cup down there. 

I pointed to the shattered cup on the floor, and the large tongue that had hung limply from the wall since the police showed up. 

—A tongue? What do you mean, a tongue? 

one of the police officers asked, looking back and forth between me and the wall. 

—You don’t see that tongue there? That tongue…. 

***

1. KakaoTalk: Korea`s most widely used chat app

DIARIES & MEMOIRS: COUNTRIES A-Z, South Korea

Returning Home to Jeongan

!Epic Tomorrows

By Kim Ja-heun


“Suguchosim (수구초심).” It is said that even a fox, when facing the end of its life, turns its head toward the mound where it was born. After leaving in my teens, I have finally returned to my hometown—a rural village where the bus only comes three times a day. It is a place where oriental turtle doves and resident birds chirp from the early morning, and the harmonies of cuckoos and scops owls sound like friendly conversation. It is a village where magpies, crows, and azure-winged magpies roam freely; where in spring, male pheasants take flight with a sudden flutter of wings; and in summer, vipers and glass snakes coil themselves on the sun-baked earthen yard. In autumn, wild boars descend from the mountain right behind the house to churn up the red soil, and in winter, water deer leave footprints in the snow right up to my deck before bolting away in a frantic dash.

I moved to this village alone—or more accurately, with five city cats. Though it’s not a “picture perfect house on a green meadow,” I built a small, modest, and practical home. I left the yard as natural soil. Out of respect for the environment, I use no pesticides or herbicides. Thanks to that, even without sowing or tending, the yard is always a lush green field.

After winter, fragrant shepherd’s purse emerges in early spring, followed by mugwort that shoots up overnight, until eventually, dandelions take over the entire yard. They soon burst into yellow blossoms. The spring yard becomes a vast field of gold where countless bees sip nectar and butterflies make an early appearance. When the dandelion seeds fly away, plantains grow in their place. As the plantains begin to seed, rose moss pushes up sprouts like the tiny red tongues of baby birds. In one corner, white clover spreads its greenery, offering flower necklaces made of white lantern-like blooms. Just when you think it’s over, tender amaranth begins to cover the ground. The life beneath the soil all has its own turn, waiting patiently for its
sequence.

The dandelions, fallen as single-winged seeds, soon sprout new green life again. Self-sown perilla plants grow tall, bringing back the scent of my mother from my childhood. I take what nature offers for free—making seasoned greens and pickles, boiling soups, making wraps, and brewing tea. I face the flowers that bloom in their season, observe the honeybees, and welcome the butterflies. The morning chorus of birds is a bonus.

When I open the window early in the morning, the mist from Jeongan Reservoir forms a wide ribbon and drifts across the forest. A white crane spreads its wings wide, gliding gracefully over the fields. I offer a tender morning greeting to the cats crowding by the window, just like any other day, and head out to the vegetable garden to see how much the crops have grown overnight. They grow at their own pace, without greed.

Now, it is time for my “morning play.” I pull unnecessary weeds and feed the crops with a watering can. Drenched in water, the plants look vibrant and fresh. Thus, the morning garden is not a space for labor, but a playground for “playing house.” To be honest, I never knew that living alone in the countryside could be such a fulfilling life. I once lived through an era where we had to trim the wicks of oil lamps, but now I have the help of the internet. It is a bountiful life, enjoying the benefits of both nature and civilization.

In Jeongan, the land of chestnuts, the chestnut flowers have now unraveled their long, tasseled skeins. The village is filled with their scent. When the sun rises, the cuckoo sings a distant “vowel” of a song, and in the evening, the scops owl sings a “vowel” of longing. This is Jeongan (正安) in Gongju. Having returned to my hometown—a name that means “Righteous and Peaceful”—I am living a life that is profoundly natural.

DIARIES & MEMOIRS: COUNTRIES A-Z, Ecology of the absurd, South Korea

Dad’s Sea

!Epic Tomorrows

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.

Reflections, South Korea

The door called the organization

!Epic Tomorrows

By Kim Ja-heun

Human relationships are like that. When people gather, whether they like it or not, they must open their mouths to speak. You have to reveal words that could have remained hidden, and you must listen to words that would have been irrelevant had they gone unheard. Furthermore, in any gathering of an organization, words inevitably pour out—this way and that. As the mass of the organization grows, the volume of words swells, branching out in every direction.

Even on a single agenda, conflict arises because thoughts differ. It is not a matter of “This is my thought, what is yours?” but rather an attempt to inject one’s own beliefs into others: “My thought is right, so why is yours like that?” It would be ideal if conflicting opinions reached a consensus, but when they don’t, the situation escalates into raised voices and flushed faces. When the clash is over petty interests rather than a grand cause, a sense of self-reproach washes over me as I watch, listen, and participate: Good heavens, why do I even have to be here? It feels like a homework assignment where the distinction between right and wrong will never reach a resolution.

Yet, I also realize that the opinions each person puts forward can be interpreted as a desire to do things well. If a few say one thing but the majority says another, it could be that the majority is right. When opinions are expressed, synthesized, and deduced to create something new, the resulting conclusion might return as a different kind of vitality.

Late at night, returning home through the pouring rain in Gwanghwamun, a junior colleague who lives in the same direction and I got into an extension of the meeting’s debate on the subway. My junior argued that the activities of the Self-Discipline Committee are ultimately political and that we must, therefore, increase our influence through numbers. To be honest, I couldn’t actively agree. My conviction is that a writer’s political expansion should be expressed through their writing. As political assertions clashed with my professional philosophy, the junior—who seemed to be from “Venus”—exclaimed, “Ah, senior, you’re being frustrating again!” I, coming from “Mars,” grew weary of the same problems repeating and closed my tired eyes, saying, “Hey, let’s just stop now.”

***

On a day like today, I feel an immense fatigue from belonging to an organization. Is it regret, or perhaps a realization? I think to myself that if I hadn’t joined this organization in the first place, I wouldn’t have to deal with this bitter energy on my way home so late. I realize once again that I am, by nature, ill-suited for the confines of an organized framework.

Closing my eyes, I sink into thought. I wonder, as my junior poet said, how a senior writer who is respected should behave. And is that junior, who says such things, behaving correctly as a senior respected by their own juniors? While pondering what human relationships are all about… I eventually lean toward the positive: Yes, this is all just everyone trying to do their best!

They say that as you get older, you should keep your mouth closed and your wallet open. Since I am not in a position to gallantly open my wallet, I suppose I should act my age by simply keeping my mouth firmly shut.

Many feminisms, South Korea

My First Word: “Fuck”

!Epic Tomorrows

By Kim Woo-nam’s dream

The moment I was born, I drew my legs together. It wasn’t something I had learned. The body knows before the mind does—cold air, the sense of someone peering in, about to give me a name.
My grandmother tried to look between my legs. She had longed for a grandson to carry on the family line.
“Oh… it’s a girl.”
Her words struck the ceiling and fell back onto my body. “Fuck.” I tightened my legs even more. Before I had language, my body was already a sentence.
Even when they tried to change my diaper, I refused to open. My grandmother grew anxious; her fingertips trembled. At last, she clasped her hands together.
“I was wrong… please forgive me… please let the child open her legs.”
The words I was wrong changed the air in the room. Something unseen settled, like dust falling still. Slowly, I loosened my legs—not forced apart, but like a flower opening late.
I already knew how to fold my body to protect myself, and how to endure until someone said they were sorry.