The floor of my roughly six-pyeong studio apartment never had room to spare. There was one thin mat topper spread out in place of a bed, and beside it, transparent storage bins arranged like a fortress wall. I crouched in front of the three-tier acrylic organizer that shimmered with an especially vivid rainbow sheen, monopolizing the sunlight in one corner of the room.
The moment I slid open a drawer, a clear, tinkling sound rang through the cramped room. There were 2mm seed beads, crystal beads with an aurora glow, alphabet charms, shell fragments, and unopened UV/LED resin, along with an adorable mini lamp. It had once been my own little jewelry workshop, the thing that consumed every one of my weekends and nights.
Looking back, I guess I had quite a few hobbies. During the winter I was twenty-four, fresh out of college and receiving rejection texts from every résumé screening I applied to, I suffered from terrible anxiety. It was a time when I felt there wasn't a single thing in the world I could control with my own hands. That's when I started resin art and beadcraft as if under a spell.
I would drop a bead of thick, transparent resin into a silicone mold, then carefully place a single dried baby's-breath petal and a piece of glittering gold leaf inside, my hand trembling around the tweezers. Within that tiny frame, I was a complete creator. I'd pop the bubbles that rose to the surface with a lighter flame, then cure it under a UV lamp for a minute. What remained in my palm was a tiny universe, cold and solid yet radiant.
The beads I threaded one by one onto fishing line were no different. When I wove the strand while matching colors according to a pattern without thinking about anything else, I could briefly forget the sting of résumé rejections and the fear of a tomorrow I couldn't see. It wasn't just a hobby to me. It was like an oxygen mask I clamped between my teeth whenever I was gasping for air.
But as my job search dragged on, all of it became a thing of the past. Struggling to get through each day while bouncing from one part-time job to another, I let a thick layer of dust collect on the storage bins. By then, when I got home from work, I didn't have the strength to lift a single finger. Even finding the emotional room to quietly admire anything that sparkled felt like a luxury.
“I don't have the energy to take care of these little things anymore.”
I carefully took out the acrylic drawers and spread everything across a white cloth. I pulled out my smartphone and took pictures in the natural light. The colorful beads shone translucently in the sunlight. Then I opened the Carrot Market app and started typing.
[For Sale] Resin Art & Beadcraft Supplies as a Bundle (UV Lamp, Resin, Molds, 30 Types of Beads Included) * Price: 25,000 won * Condition: Almost new / Some unopened * Description: Craft supplies I once carefully collected and cherished. I hope someone who wants to make pretty accessories or keychains as a hobby will take them.
Less than five minutes after I posted the listing, a cheerful notification sounded.
*“Carrot!”*
[When the Camellias Bloom: Hello! Is this still available? I'd love to pick it up right away!]
The buyer's manner score was 41.2 degrees. Her Carrot Market username was When the Camellias Bloom, and her profile picture was a child's foot.
[Me: Yes, it's still available! Would you be able to meet this evening?]
[When the Camellias Bloom: Yes! Would it be okay to meet in front of the Paris Baguette at the end of the alley? I'll have to bring a stroller, so somewhere without stairs would be best... How about 7:30? That's when my baby wakes up from their nap!]
The care she took in suggesting a time around her child's schedule carried a strange sense of busyness and warmth. I carefully wrapped the glass charms that might break in bubble wrap and packed the supplies into a shopping bag, one layer at a time. Then I spotted a few aurora heart pendants left in the corner of a drawer, so I put them in a small zipper bag and tucked them in as a free extra.
Before I knew it, the sun was sinking, and at 7:20—the agreed-upon time—I left home carrying the shopping bag.
Under the streetlamp in front of the bakery, the smells of butter and sweet red-bean bread mingled in the air. Beneath the orange light spilling through the windows, I saw a woman standing there, gently rocking a stroller back and forth. She wore a faded gray sweatshirt, her hair hastily tied back, and a thick pain-relief patch wrapped around one wrist. It was obvious at a glance that she was the person I'd been waiting for, When the Camellias Bloom.
“Excuse me, are you here for Carrot Market...?”
The woman jumped at my voice and turned around. A shy yet delighted smile spread across her face above her sunken dark circles.
“Oh, yes! You're the seller with the resin set, right? I'm sorry I couldn't come any farther because of the stroller and made you come all the way here.”
“Not at all. It's less than three minutes from my place. I brought all the beads and the lamp.”
As she accepted the shopping bag, the woman sneaked a glance into the stroller. Beneath the canopy, a nursing baby slept, breathing softly and evenly. A thin gauze blanket draped over the baby's plump cheeks rose and fell with each breath.
“Your baby is such an angel.”
She gave an awkward little laugh and gripped the stroller handle tightly. Every knuckle was red and chapped. They were the marks of a day spent washing bottles, changing diapers, and getting her hands wet.
“During the day, the baby has a back sensor, so I can't even put them down on the floor. I eat my meals standing up, practically drinking them... They're barely past one hundred days old, and I have no idea where the day goes. When I was working, I thought overtime was the hardest thing in the world, but raising a child is a hundred times harder.”
Her voice was clearly exhausted, but her eyes sparkled like a child's as she looked at the colorful box of beads peeking through the shopping bag.
“I've always loved making things with my hands. But after I had a baby, the person called ‘me’ disappeared, and all that was left was just ‘someone's mom.’ So... once the baby falls into a deep sleep at night, I want to turn on just one lamp at the dining table and spend at least thirty minutes quietly stringing beads—time that's mine. Since it doesn't make any noise or kick up dust, it seems perfect.”
“‘I'm going to try it as a quiet nighttime hobby after I put the baby to sleep.’”
Those words sent a sharp ache through one corner of my chest. When I, too, had been pushed out by the world and curled up in the corner of my room, hadn't I wrestled with those tiny beads every night, afraid that my existence would blur away?
When it feels as though we've slipped off the enormous orbit the world has laid out for us and are drifting alone, we cling to things that look tiny and insignificant in order to prove our own existence. That utterly simple, perfectly absorbing moment of threading string through a one-millimeter hole. I knew all too well that it wasn't an escape, but a desperate air hole that let us breathe as ourselves for even one minute out of the twenty-four hours in a day.
“I think I understand that feeling very well.”
I rummaged through the pocket of my bag, pulled out the aurora heart pendants I'd set aside earlier and a packet of flat silver O-ring findings, and handed them to her.
“These are a little extra I brought along. The pendants sparkle rainbow colors in the sunlight. You could put one on the baby's bag or your car keys later—it might brighten your mood, and it'll look pretty. If you put one drop of resin on it under the UV lamp to coat it, it won't scratch at all.”
The woman's eyes grew round, and her cheeks flushed pink.
“Oh my goodness... Are you sure I can have something this pretty as a free extra? Thank you so much. I'll put the baby to sleep tonight and make one first thing.”
She handed me five crisp 5,000-won bills from her wallet, then rummaged through her pocket and pressed a small snack bag into my hand. Inside were two individually wrapped lemon candies and a sweet caramel.
“These are what I eat whenever I get low on energy from taking care of the baby. Have something sweet and keep your strength up, too. Thank you so much.”
I watched for a long time as the stroller wheels rolled smoothly away, carrying her into the distance. Her shoulders, hunched slightly as she walked carefully down the nighttime street, somehow looked a little lighter than they had when we first met.
I went home and opened the door. Moonlight stretched across the narrow room, where I hadn't turned on the lights. Beside the mat topper, the plastic container that had always held colorful things was empty again. I wiped the pale dust from its lid with a wet tissue. The sparkling charms and beads had left my side, but instead of feeling empty, the room felt cool and comfortable, as though a little more clean air had flowed in.
I unwrapped one of the lemon candies on the dining table and put it in my mouth. After the tartness that pricked my salivary glands, a gentle sweetness spread across my tongue.
The tiny universes that had watched over my dark nights at twenty-four would now become little air holes, brightly illuminating someone else's exhausted nights. As I began letting go, one by one, of the things I'd clutched in my hands, I was finally drawing in the breath I needed to fill my tomorrow with something new—something as spacious as the empty places in my room.