The First Tangerine Season
Winter, 1968.
Haneul Island lay quietly in South Korean waters, like a tiny dot on a vast map. Each morning at dawn, a thin veil of white mist wrapped around the old tiled roofs, slipped through the stone-paved alleyways, and gradually vanished beneath the pale winter sunlight. The sound of the waves beat steadily against the rocky shore, mingling with seagulls calling to one another across the blue-gray sky, creating a song the islanders had heard all their lives.
December was tangerine season.
Across the hillsides, tangerine orchards stretched one after another like a green carpet dotted with brilliant golden specks. The scent of ripe tangerines drifted on the breeze, so gently sweet that one deep breath was enough to make a person's heart feel lighter.
For visitors from the mainland, it was the most beautiful season of the year.
But for the people of Haneul, tangerine season was also the season when the sea was coldest.
So cold that every time they stepped into the water, it felt as though thousands of needles were piercing their skin.
“Seo Rin, wake up, sweetheart.”
Her mother's gentle voice pulled the little girl from sleep.
Han Seo Rin slowly opened her eyes.
Through the small wooden window, silver dawn was slipping into the room, which was less than ten square meters. The old quilt, frayed along the edges, still held a little of the winter night's warmth.
Seo Rin rubbed her eyes and sat up.
“Are you going out to sea, Mom?”
Mrs. Kim Soon Ja smiled as she tied back her long hair.
“Yes. The sea is calm today.”
She said it lightly, as though it were something to be glad about.
But Seo Rin knew that “the sea is calm” did not mean it was safe.
Ever since she was very young, the girl had often stood on the rocky outcrop and watched the village women pull on their black diving suits, take their nets, and silently walk into the sea. They had no air tanks, only a single breath and years of hard-earned experience.
Some returned with baskets full of abalone, sea urchins, and seaweed.
Some returned with wounds oozing blood from the sharp rocks.
And some… never returned at all.
Seo Rin had never asked her mother if she was afraid.
Because she knew that if her mother had been allowed to choose, she would never have traded her life for the cold sea.
But their life had never given them many choices.
Mrs. Kim Soon Ja bent down to straighten her daughter's scarf.
“After school today, remember to stop by Aunt Mi Sun's house and pick up your little brother.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And your lunch money is in the wooden box.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Remember to put on another layer.”
Seo Rin obediently nodded.
Looking at her daughter, Mrs. Kim Soon Ja smiled despite herself.
This child was completely different from the other children on the island.
While the others liked running along the shore to catch crabs or climbing trees to pick tangerines, Seo Rin preferred sitting for hours beneath the old tree, reading. The old books the teacher brought from the mainland had become the girl's most precious treasures.
Once, Seo Rin asked her mother:
“Mom… what's beyond the sea?”
Her mother stared at her blankly.
“The mainland is beyond the sea.”
“What else is on the mainland?”
“There are cities.”
“Is Seoul there?”
“Yes.”
Seo Rin beamed.
“I want to go there.”
Mrs. Kim Soon Ja looked into her daughter's bright, sparkling eyes, her heart filled with both happiness and sadness.
She was happy that her daughter had a dream.
But she also understood that for a poor family on Haneul Island, that dream was no less distant than the stars in the night sky.
Before leaving, she took a nearly ripe tangerine from the bamboo basket.
“Come here.”
Seo Rin stepped closer.
Her mother peeled the thin skin, and the scent of tangerine oil immediately spread through the little kitchen. She separated one segment and placed it in her daughter's palm.
“Is it sweet?”
Seo Rin chewed slowly, then smiled.
“Very sweet.”
“Whenever life tastes too bitter… remember the taste of today's tangerine.”
Seo Rin tilted her head.
“Why?”
Her mother stroked her hair.
“Because people can forget so many things. But as long as you can still remember sweetness, you'll have enough courage to keep moving forward.”
Seo Rin was only ten years old then.
She did not yet understand the full meaning of those words.
Many years later, after she had lived through the greatest losses of her life, she would finally realize… some of a mother's parting words only truly bloom after many, many years.
Outside, the fishing boat's whistle rang out long and clear in the early morning.
Mrs. Kim Soon Ja pulled on her faded diving jacket, smiled at her daughter one last time, and stepped out through the old, weathered wooden gate.
Seo Rin stood on the porch, silently watching her mother's figure grow smaller on the road leading down to the harbor.
The winter wind scattered the tiny white tangerine blossoms still clinging to the branches.
One blossom landed softly on the little girl's shoulder.
Seo Rin reached up to catch it, then smiled without realizing it.
She had no idea that, on that same morning, on the other side of the hill, a boy was preparing to meet her for the first time beneath an old tangerine tree—a meeting that would change both their lives.
The road from Seo Rin's home to school was just over two kilometers long.
Every morning, the girl walked through fields of yellow mustard flowers, followed the little stream, and crossed the market beside the harbor. The early-morning market was always crowded. The voices of people haggling, the splashing fish in wooden tubs, and the wheels of old handcarts rolling over the stone road blended into the familiar rhythm of island life.
Seo Rin's favorite place was Mr. Park's used-book stand.
In truth, it was only a pushcart piled high with books gone yellow with age. Some were missing their covers, and some had lost a few pages, but in the girl's eyes, every book was like a door leading to another world.
“The little girl is back again?”
Mr. Park smiled.
Seo Rin bowed politely.
“I'm only looking today.”
The old man pulled a green-covered notebook from beneath the cart.
“Someone left it here yesterday. If you like to write, take it.”
Seo Rin's eyes lit up.
“Really?”
“Yes. But…”
He looked at the notebook and smiled kindly.
“Don't leave these pages blank for too long.”
Seo Rin hugged the notebook to her chest as though it were the most precious gift in the world.
She did not know that many years later, those very pages would record nearly her entire life.
School let out.
The sun had begun to sink in the west.
The wind from the sea blew harder, carrying the salty scent of the water.
Seo Rin did not go straight home. Instead, she turned onto the narrow road leading to the hill behind the school. At the top of the hill stood an old tangerine tree that had been there for a very long time, its rough trunk and spreading branches reaching out as though they wanted to embrace the entire sky.
It was her favorite place.
She spread her little cloth beneath the tree, opened the new notebook, and carefully wrote her first lines.
“Day One of the New Notebook.”
“I want to write down everything beautiful on Haneul Island, because I'm afraid that one day I'll forget it all.”
Just then, an unexpected gust of wind swept past.
The tangerine blossoms still clinging to the branches fluttered down across the page.
A dry leaf blew after them, accidentally flipping to another page.
Seo Rin quickly reached out to hold it down.
But before she could pick up the pencil that had fallen to the ground, another hand had already bent down in front of her.
“Here.”
The voice was low but very soft.
Seo Rin looked up.
Standing before her was a boy nearly half a head taller than she was. His brown jacket was old, his shoes were caked with mud, and a bamboo basket hung from his shoulder.
His eyes were very bright.
Bright as the sea beneath a clear sky.
“Th-thank you.”
Seo Rin took the pencil.
The two children looked at each other for a few seconds, then fell silent together.
At last, the boy spoke first.
“My name is Kang Do Hyun.”
“Han Seo Rin.”
“Every time I walk past here, I see you sitting and writing.”
Seo Rin looked surprised.
“You know me?”
Do Hyun scratched his head.
“Yeah.”
“But I've never seen you.”
“Because I only walk past.”
The answer made Seo Rin laugh.
Her smile left Do Hyun so flustered that he had to turn his face toward the sea.
It was the first time he realized… someone else's smile could make his heart beat so fast.
A ripe tangerine suddenly dropped between them.
“Ah!”
Seo Rin jumped.
Do Hyun bent down to pick it up.
The tangerine still had its stem attached, its golden skin gleaming in the afternoon sun.
“My mom says…”
Seo Rin spoke softly.
“If a tangerine falls right in front of two people, they have to split it in half.”
“Why?”
“Because then they'll have good luck.”
Do Hyun gave a small laugh.
“I don't really believe that.”
“Then try eating it.”
Seo Rin peeled it deftly. Its gentle fragrance spread through the air. She split the tangerine in half and held one half out to Do Hyun.
He hesitated for a moment, then accepted it.
The tangerine was strangely sweet.
Not the sharp sweetness of sugar, but a clean sweetness touched with a hint of tartness that made you want another bite.
“Is it good?”
Do Hyun nodded.
“Good.”
Seo Rin smiled.
“I told you.”
The two children sat beneath the tree until the sunset dyed the surface of the sea red.
Neither spoke of the worries at home.
Neither asked what the future would bring.
They only talked about very small things.
That every seagull had a nest to return to.
That the old tangerine tree bloomed at the right time every year.
That the sea could be as gentle as a mother on some days, but on others, as fierce as fate's anger.
When it was time to part, Do Hyun took a small white stone, polished smooth by the waves, from his jacket pocket.
“Here. It's for you.”
Seo Rin looked surprised.
“What for?”
“My grandmother says that whoever finds a round stone should give it to the person they want to see again.”
Seo Rin laughed and carefully slipped the stone into her jacket pocket.
“Then I'll see you tomorrow.”
Do Hyun did not answer right away.
He only nodded softly.
Then he watched the girl's figure disappear along the road covered in the day's last sunlight.
On the branch, the final tangerine blossom slowly drifted down.
Neither child knew that many years later, after life carried them through countless losses and choices, they would both still remember that afternoon.
The afternoon when everything began with nothing more than a new notebook, a ripe tangerine, and an utterly ordinary promise:
“I'll see you tomorrow.”
—End of Chapter 1.