Half a block from my apartment in Yeonje-gu, below the railroad tracks and across the street from a lounge called Moon River, a stream called Oncheon-cheon flows east.  It’s lit by street lamps and bordered on each side by a long and blooming row of cherry blossoms.  

As my new friend Wonsop explained over sushi rolls last Saturday, Koreans spend most of their lives working.  There aren’t enough jobs to go around, so you work long and hard at the one you’ve got.  But walk down to Oncheon-cheon stream any evening of the week and you’ll spot the locals taking moments of respite: men in suits walking home, old women in big pink visors and white face masks chatting to each other on benches, and young couples cuddled up on stone seats below the blossoms, looking out at the water as it flows toward the Seyeong River.   

Last Friday night Oncheon-cheon held a festival: from what I can gather it was to celebrate the stream and a new season of life along its edges.  Along with my friends and co-teachers Ashley, Jason, Bryan, Dianna, and Leah, I checked out the festival lights and lanterns, as well as an upside- down Korean dude who was just hanging out.  

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