It was only 9 p.m. when I was abruptly awoken by an inexplicable sensation. The luminescence emanating from the neon lights and passing vehicles of the bustling city seeped through the slats of my blinds, casting an otherworldly glow around the room. My skin prickled, as the hair on my limbs and nape stood at full attention.

  Although I lived alone on the fourth floor in a small studio, an unmistakable presence permeated the room. I sat upright in my bed, my attention immediately captured by a formless silhouette occupying the corner beside the entrance.

  The figure advanced toward me, its faceless form radiating an unspoken sense of dread. I felt a chill run down my spine, and a single droplet of icy sweat traced a path down my cheek. My breath came out in white puffs as I watched, paralyzed with fear.

  As it took another step, the figure began to take on a more tangible form. The hazy outline solidified into a man, whose balding head and rotund belly came into focus. His hands were snugly tucked in the front pockets of his denim jeans, and his shoulders were hunched forward, giving him an air of dejection.

  As his eyes met mine, a glimmer of familiarity sparked within me, and a sly grin spread across his features, revealing a face I had thought was lost forever. A maelstrom of emotions, including relief and grief, surged through me, catching me off guard.

  “Dad, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said, after what felt like an eternity of silence.

  “You scared me for a second.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he replied, his voice warm and gentle.

  “So, what brings you all the way out here?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  His gaze wandered around the room. “I thought I’d come by and see how you are. You moved so far away from home. I never got the chance to get a look at this new place of yours. Is this how you’re living these days?”

  With a disapproving shake of his head, he gestured towards the indistinct masses of debris scattered haphazardly across the room, resembling nothing than amorphous, shadowy blobs. Upon closer inspection, the smudgy outlines revealed themselves to be an eclectic mix of take-out containers and rumpled clothing, some freshly laundered and others in dire need of a good wash. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, emanating an unpleasant odor that had started to fill the entire studio.

  I sat there in silence, bracing myself for the familiar sound of his voice launching into one of his classic lectures about the importance of doing chores as you go or the perils of leaving home without knowing how to properly take care of oneself.

  After a brief moment of hesitation, I spoke up. “I was actually planning on cleaning up soon. It’s just been hard to find the time with work being so busy lately.”

  Dad’s expression softened slightly, but his disapproval lingered. “You know, you never invited your mom and me to come visit.”

  “I’m still getting settled,” I lied, reluctant to admit the truth aloud. The distance was a necessary buffer for my own sanity. I could still hear the echoes of my mother’s temper tantrums and my dad’s defeated sighs in my mind. It didn’t seem worth it to bother sharing any details with them.

  “But it’s been a few years,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah, I know…”

  With a heavy sigh, he lowered himself onto the small sofa chair by the bed, resting his hands on the armrest. “It’s a pretty decent size studio you have here. Not too big, not too small.”

  “Are you staying long?”

  “I’m not quite sure yet. The plan is to stay until the first light of the new day, but after that, who knows where I’ll end up.”

  “Go where?”

  He shrugged, and chuckled. “That’s the greatest mystery. I’ll be finding that out soon enough. In the meantime, I’m here to see you before then.”

  “Okay, well, then why don’t we take a walk and get some fresh air? I can show you around Seoul.”

  He looked at me skeptically. “Are you sure? You looked zonked out earlier from work.”

  “I was but I’m wide awake now,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Anyway, I know you never get to travel much. It’ll be fun, and you’re only here…” I paused as the words got stuck in my throat. “…for one night…” The words came out softer and bittersweet.

  He nodded and said, “Yeah, sure, we can do that. Let’s go out.”

  As I rummaged through my closet for a jacket, a new sensation crept over me. It was an eerie feeling, like there was something else in the room with me. I could sense it lurking in the shadows, something that wasn’t human. With trembling fingers, I reached for the light switch. As the room flooded with light, the shadowy figure disappeared. Dad was also gone, and I noticed that the front door was left wide open.

  I heard his voice echo down the hall as he called out to me, “Come on! Let's not waste the night!”

  *****

  The frigid air seeped into my bones. Even the slightest breeze felt like a knife slicing through butter. I hastily zipped up my jacket and shoved my freezing hands into its pockets. But Dad seemed unfazed by the cold, dressed only in jeans and a flannel shirt. He stood there, hands on hips, surveying our surroundings.

  My neighborhood had a relatively peaceful nightlife compared to other areas of the city. On the opposite side of the street stood a convenience store, where a couple of delivery motorcyclists were taking a break on a bench, chain-smoking and guzzling down cans of sweet Americanos. Customers strolled by the fruit stands at a corner market, while a few lingered outside a bar, smoking and chatting.

  “So, this is where I live,” I said.

  Dad nodded. “Seoul seems nice.”

  Though, I sensed his subtle disapproval. He said it with a frown on his face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Is it safe around here?”

  “Yeah, it’s generally safe.”

  We ambled down the narrow alleyway, then made a turn at the corner market, which led us to a longer alleyway lined with bars and fried chicken restaurants. The area was bustling with people, mainly college students, streaming in and out of the establishments.

  The path led us to the busy main street, where pedestrians were hurrying along. Delivery motorcyclists zoomed by, deftly navigating through the crowd, without colliding with anyone. As we walked, we passed several food vendors with their tents set up. The warmth emanating from the tents beckoned to me, and the aroma of the food made my mouth water.

  One of the vendors smiled and waved for me to come over and sit on a stool at one of the few red plastic tables. She was selling fish cakes and blood sausages, and my stomach rumbled at the sight of them. I realized I had forgotten to eat dinner and decided to order a couple of skewered fish cakes with a cup of broth and a small plate of blood sausages. She sliced the sausages into several pieces and added a teaspoon of salt on the side.

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  Dad gazed at the food in front of me.

  “Do you want to try some?” I offered.

  He pointed at the fish cake. “How does it taste?”

  “You’ll have to taste it to know.”

  I handed him a skewered fish cake, but it slipped from his fingers and landed on the table. As Dad leaned over to retrieve it, a businessman in a suit and carrying a briefcase entered the tent.

  A light bulb switched on in Dad’s head. He got up and rushed into the man, disappearing in the blink of an eye. The man clutched his chest and collapsed, shaking uncontrollably.

  The vendor panicked and hurried to the man’s aid, calling out for help and asking if he was alright. However, she stepped back as the man sprang to his feet, straightened his tie, and picked up his briefcase.

  “I’m alright,” he assured the vendor whose pale face was frozen in shock. He then plopped himself down on the stool in front of me, taking a large bite of the fish cake.

  “Not bad,” he said with a nod of approval.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah,” he grinned. Although the face before me wasn’t his, the sparkle in his eyes assured me it was him. Together, we devoured the other skewer before moving onto the blood sausages.

  After a while, he said, “There’s a question that I want to get out of the way.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s something that I kept wondering about—why did you leave?”

  “You and Mom have already asked me that question before.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’ve this feeling that you never told me the real answer.”

  “Real answer? Dad, it’s not that complicated. I got hired at a company and I—”

  “No, really. I know you could’ve gotten work back home, but you decided to fly halfway across the world instead.”

  I hesitated, reminiscing on the memories of my parents’ reaction when I told them about my decision to move overseas. There was no sense of congratulation, no expression of pride, nor a hint of joy. Instead, there was an outburst of anger and bitter words that penetrated deeper than any sword. Their words struck at the very core of my being, leaving me wounded and bleeding. It wasn’t the first time, as such things had happened since as far back as I could remember.

  I shook my head. “If I tell you why and how I feel, you’re just going to get mad. You and mom never liked it whenever I spoke my mind.”

  “I won’t get mad. Really, I promise.”

  “I…”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Alright then,” I began, unsure of how to approach the topic delicately, “I needed to figure myself out. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, and I wanted to know what it’s like to live on my own. I didn’t have any freedom while living with you and Mom. The only way for me to get that was by leaving.”

  He scoffed. “What do you mean? You make it sound like you were in a prison.”

  “What I mean is that you can’t shelter someone forever. Everyone needs to find their own way and make their own decisions. You can’t control someone’s every move and expect them to grow.”

  “We were only trying to protect you and keep you from making mistakes.”

  “Making mistakes is part of the learning process on how to live. I only wish that panic isn’t always my knee-jerk reaction when something goes wrong or doesn’t go my way.”

  “So, do you like living here? Are you glad to have moved so far?”

  “Yeah, and I’m glad I did it.”

  He frowned but said nothing more. Walked in silence as I paid for the food, and I led the way to an urban stream where people took long walks, jogged or biked even during the cold night. We settled on a bench near the water.

  Breaking the silence, he said, “I may not have been the perfect father, but there must be some good memories we made together.”

  “Yeah, of course, there are good ones with you.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “I remember when you took me on my first motorcycle ride on a red Harley-Davidson. I was four. You were going so fast, and it was the most thrilling thing I'd ever felt, like we were flying as fast as eagles. The long stretch of road seemed endless, and I didn’t want it to end.”

  His eyes lit up. “Ah, I remember that day. You sat in front of me, and I told you to hold on tight to the handlebars. You were the one who kept telling me to step on the gas because you wanted the bike to go faster.”

  There were memories of dull evenings spent with him watching his favorite TV shows while I read in my own corner, the peaceful morning drives with him dropping me off at school, and the sound of him cooking in the kitchen with Fleetwood Mac playing in the background. As the years went by, the vibrant sounds, smells, and colors of those memories gradually faded like an aging photograph, a neglected painting, or a worn-out record.

  “I also remember the walks we used to take on the pier and watch people fish,” I said, holding onto the memory tightly, afraid it’d slip away from me and be forgotten. “We didn’t go as much once I got to middle school, and then we stopped going altogether. I guess I was just a moody teen who was too cool to be seen with a parent.”

  “Now you’re a moody adult,” he said, chuckling.

  “But now, I wished we would’ve kept having those walks.”

  He jumped to his feet and reached out to take my hand. “We’re here now. Let’s keep going,” he said with enthusiasm.

  As we strolled along the stream, I felt a shapeless shadow following us, and an uneasiness began to build within me. The back of my neck prickled, and I couldn’t shake off that dreadful feeling that time was ticking, pushing me closer to my end. Death was near, and I couldn’t escape the sense of foreboding that hung over me.

  “There’s something following us,” I said.

  Dad glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, yeah, don’t mind it. It started following me when I arrived here.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “I don’t exactly know. But I’ve a feeling that it’ll let me know when it’s time to go and guide me where I need to be.”

  “And you don’t know where it’ll take you.”

  “No, I’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Aren’t you scared?”

  “I was but not anymore. When I was at the hospital, I feared the end, and then it came to me—this shadow—and it told me to trust it and just let go.”

  “What happened when you did?”

  “I wasn’t in control anymore. I drifted through a whirlwind of colors. Then, as I was about to go into the realm of light, I turned back because there were things that I wish I’d done and words I wish I’d said.”

  “Like what?”

  He stopped and pondered, gazing up at the black velvet sky. “Well, for one, we’ve never had a drink together.”

  It was almost midnight. We ended up on a long street busy with people entering and exiting bars and restaurants. Dad suggested having one last cold beer and a cigarette.

  We sat on a bench outside a convenience store with our beers and a pack of cigs. I couldn’t believe I was having a drink and a cig with him. Two things he used to indulge in but would have flipped his shit if he’d ever caught me doing the same.

  Dad didn’t bring up anything else about his intentions to make amends.

  He’d never been the type of person to admit his mistakes or apologize, even for the tears and belt marks he had inflicted on me. Maybe, this time would be different. Perhaps, he’d utter the words he’d never spoken before.

  “I’m sorry,” he uttered.

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  He took a drag of the cig and flicked it onto the sidewalk.

  “I was taking you to your violin lessons,” he continued. “On the way there, you asked me if you could go to a friend’s birthday party. I said no, but you insisted and had an attitude about it. So, I pulled over, and I screamed ‘shut up’ in your face. And then I hit you. I smacked you into silence. That was when I saw the light in your eyes die. You were only nine. And since then, the distance between me and you got bigger and bigger. The next thing I knew, you were leaving. I always knew why you wanted to leave, but I didn’t want to admit it. I’ll never forgive myself for how things turned out.”

  I finished the beer and threw the empty can into the bin. “It’s too late now to fix things.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish we could go back to those days when we were just riding on the Harley.”

  When a motorcyclist delivering food parked near our bench to have a smoke, Dad had another brilliant idea. He jumped out of the businessman’s body, leaving the bewildered man looking around in confusion before staggering away. Dad then possessed the motorcyclist, taking over his mind and body. He reached into a backpack strapped onto the back of the bike and pulled out an extra helmet, tossing it to me.

  He drove the bike as I saddled up behind him, my arms around his waist. We rode through the alleyway and onto the flow of traffic on the street. He accelerated when we reached a tunnel, and we sped and weaved around the cars.

  As I stole a glance over my shoulder, the shadow still trailed behind us, creeping along the walls, steadily drawing nearer. The bittersweet realization that all good things must come to an end washed over me. The ride through the city was both fleeting and precious. And with a heavy heart, I clung to Dad even tighter, hoping to prolong this moment just a little while longer. For in this moment, I felt as though I had finally recaptured a fragment of a memory that had slipped away from me over the years.

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