Why Summer Is My Favourite Season: Reflection Essay

Why do I like summer?

Summer in Korea is damp. You can feel the dampness on your skin.

When I close my eyes and breathe in, the humidity brings me an olfactory memory of mine linked to my mother’s mother. Just thinking of it stirs my mind up and makes me feel kind of dizzy as if there are a thousand butterflies inside my body.

It was when I was still a little girl. My grandmother lived right near us, only a street ahead. Our houses were located in a rural area of Seoul and the summer here was fascinating; the sounds of the cicada and cuckoos, the soft scent of rain, and fresh dirt. The mountains were a vibrant green with all the water absorbed due to the monsoon season. It is not an exaggeration that the summer I’ve spent here are way more beautiful than anywhere else in Korea.

My grandmother was my friend and a beloved family member. I would go to her house every day after dinner as the sunset would color the sky into a beautiful orange. She would be waiting on the porch, door wide open for her dear granddaughter. Her white hair was neatly tied into a bun and always wore a green woolen hat. It was worn and the patterns were loose but she would wear it every day so I assume it was made by my blunt grandfather. Flower-patterned belly pants, a green hat, and a wrinkled smile on her face, this was all to explain my beloved grandmother.

Her house had a welcoming scent every time I stepped inside. Even though everything was old in her house, it was cozy nevertheless. There would always be something boiling on the cooker and whatever it was, you know it would be great. Some days it would rain, some days it won’t. I liked the rainy days. She would pillow my head on her lap and sing an old song, or tell a folktale. The sound of the rainfall and an old fan would creak every time it would spin its wings. Her voice would fade away slowly just like a warped tape.

On Wednesdays, we would head out to the local marketplace. The sellers were mostly old, sitting on the ground with their hunched backs always peeling something. A middle-aged uncle would shout out the fish’s names he was selling and I would imitate that voice. I thought it was funny and we hold hands and walked around the whole place, not missing a single thing. It was a routine for her once a week and I loved it. At the end of the marketplace, there was a snack cart that sold walnut cakes. It is a small round bread filled with sweet red bean paste and walnuts. I could smell the snacks from miles away and after the long shopping, she would buy me half a dozen, and another dozen for my mom. She always said that my mother’s favorite snack was this walnut cake. When my mother was a little kid, her mother bought her these walnut cakes after work. My grandmother would laugh and say that this is the best way to stop her crying. The sweetness on my tongue was a special treat for me and a reward for my sweat and swollen legs from walking. The mixture of the sharp tang of rusty metal from the worn-out food carts and the warm scent of the walnut cake stuck in my mind and I even dream about these days so clearly.

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A month before my 10th birthday, my grandfather passed away. I didn’t have many memories with him because he was always working, even at the age of 70. However, he would lift me up whenever I ran up to him. I wanted to say goodbye to him but I was too young to go to the funeral. After then, my mother made a big decision. She spent her whole childhood in that area and she said she won’t be able to handle the loss of her father if we kept staying here. Our family moved to a city not so far from there but I could not see my grandmother or spend time with her as often as I did. My mother said that I can go stay at her house the next summer. That was a small relief to me but it couldn’t stop me from crying the whole time while I packed my things.

The city was boring. There were no walnut cake shops, there was no wooden bench I could lie down and see the stars with my family. Adapting to a new school was a big issue for me at a young age. Rapid changes were made around me and my parents were both very busy. The only way to solve this uneasy feeling was to call my grandmother. I would talk over the phone with my grandmother and always end it with a little sob. That was how I felt about her.

A year passed and summer came. Monsoon started earlier than the previous years. The air was airy and humid which made the weather even hotter. The date my mother had promised me arrived at last and I was thrilled but she was not satisfied. She told me that the whole summer break would be too long to stay at my grandmother’s house and that only a few days is enough. I got into tantrums but she would only repeat that my grandmother is kind of out of sorts these days. I knew that whenever my mother was calling grandmother, she had a subtle seriousness on her face and some big sighs as she talked over the phone.

It was the day I was going to my grandma’s house and that morning, my mother got really upset after having a long talk over the phone with her. I was too young to figure out what she was so upset about. The sky was a murky gray and that made my feelings worse.

It didn’t take too much for me to arrive at my grandmother’s house. As the car drove deeper into the countryside, my heart was thumping. I asked my mother to stop me at the village entrance. She worried that it might rain but she gave up on me and I was left with my little luggage at the village entrance. It took only ten minutes to walk to my grandmother’s house. The smell of the fresh dirt and trees, raw grass, and the smell of rain, was all that I had missed during the past year. The dirt road was a bit muddy but that was another charm of the countryside.

The house appeared in sight. I had not seen her for months so I was pretty anxious to see her, but there was no sign of her on the porch. It was odd because she would always be outside and greet me. I rang the door-bell, heard some thumping, and my grandmother came running out. She looked so surprised at my appearance. I was even more surprised to see her act like this. Her face had more wrinkles on them and her white hair had become whiter. My mother told her that I was going to visit her house over the phone but she did not seem to remember it. However, she erased the confusion off her face and took my luggage greeting me inside. After the small incident on the porch, everything was back to normal. She was the sweet grandmother I knew before. I got into my pajamas, ate some late lunch, and lied down next to my grandmother. An old television had noises on the screen. A famous cartoon was on and I watched it while she peeled tangerines. I talked about the new school, the new house, and the new city. Her face would sometimes go blank and stop and stare into blank spaces sometimes but I was insignificant to it. I was just happy to see her and be in this place. The atmosphere around me was so cozy. I slept for a long time.

When I woke up, the house was eerily quiet. Tangerine peelings were on the floor and the TV was still buzzing. I slowly got out of the sheets. The room was dim and shed a faint reddish light through the window. I knew I slept for a long time because it was mid-day when I fell asleep. The sun was setting. I moved my feet into the kitchen to see if she was there. There was still no sign of her. The kitchen looked like it lost its warmth. I began to call out for her. The small house could send my voice to every part of the house but there was no answer coming back. This was weird because the grandmother I knew would never leave the house without me. I was scared and I did not know what to do. I was still a little girl and there were very few things I could do to solve this situation. I called my mother. Because I was crying hysterically and talking at the same time, it took a few minutes to tell her what happened exactly. She said she was on her way and told me to stay at her house but the fear of losing my grandmother was bigger