Ainseul: Golden raspberry
Aja, my grandfather, often reminisces about Tanahunsur; “We’re aging, and so has our village, which has transformed from a lively hub to a silent place.” His words made me ponder my fleeting presence in this world.
My Aja-Aji, both of my grandparents, left their village because girls couldn’t attend school. After my elder Nini was prohibited from continuing her education, Aja made the choice to move. Reflecting on this, Aji humorously noted: “If we hadn’t left, you would have just grown up there,” prompting me to wonder how my life might have differed there.
Driven by this curiosity, I traveled to Tanahunsur and saw their
old home, now reduced to a single wall with crumbling bricks and overgrown bushes. The tree branches swayed wildly, reminiscent of how Aja described dancing through the village, enlivening the quiet with the sound of Madal. I felt the village’s stillness, the rustling of the bushes in the wind, and I could hear echoes of its once lively inhabitants.
old home, now reduced to a single wall with crumbling bricks and overgrown bushes. The tree branches swayed wildly, reminiscent of how Aja described dancing through the village, enlivening the quiet with the sound of Madal. I felt the village’s stillness, the rustling of the bushes in the wind, and I could hear echoes of its once lively inhabitants.
These experiences are my way of preserving their legacy and keeping the stories of my grandparents and Tanahunsur alive.
