They were bits and pieces kept inside me for years that suddenly flew me back to those days when I was once a kid. What could that be?
It could be the bitter cold weather which was in stark contrast with achingly hot kogumas. Or it could be those guys usually old enough to be my dad armoured with jacket, muffler, gloves, took, and you name it. Or it could be the cracking fire inside the cooker (drum) I couldn’t take my eyes off for some reason. Or maybe it was the atmosphere of the people in a cozy warm house whom I got to share kogumas with: they were usually family members or someone I was very close to. Or it is, very likely, all of the above combined. (I'll tell you shortly why I mention these things in this blog. After all, I translate English to Korean professionally. Bear with me, I'll talk about this in upcoming posts.)
I don’t really know, but it is surely not something negative. It does feel good, and I appreciate this unexpected outcome.
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