The Day The Sea Split

The Day The Sea Split

- Laura Boffa

SOUTH KOREA IS sometimes called “The Land of the Morning Calm.” That morning, the mist outside my bedroom window was so thick the nearby mountains were invisible. By afternoon the mountains would look green and crisp, but today, I would not be there to see them.

“Hyun Mi!” Mama called from the kitchen. “Come eat your breakfast. We have to hurry!” I joined my family for kimchi and soup, and then we set off for the train station.

From the train I watched farmers hunched over in the rice fields. Occasionally we passed between city skyscrapers. I knew we were headed toward Jindo Island, although I didn’t know why. Papa insisted that it was a surprise. He turned to me and asked, “Do you believe in miracles, Hyun Mi?” I shrugged, and he just smiled.

My little brother Min Ho didn’t seem to care where we were going. He made his way up the aisle, stopping to ask an old man if his beard was real. Just as he reached for the man’s chin, Mama pulled him back. Papa and I laughed.

When we stepped off the train, we were wrapped in a strong, salty sea breeze. Even though Jindo wasn’t a big city like ours, it was packed with more people than I had ever seen, from all over the world. Min Ho wanted to run straight into the water, but something else caught my eye.