Surviving by Being Eaten

Seoul nights are beautiful.

The cityscape viewed from the bridge shines more dazzlingly than the subway ride home.

However, my body trembled like a quaking aspen.

Was it the chilly night air?

Or perhaps the soju I had gulped down?

Or maybe… because death was looming ahead?

“Phew…”

I gripped the railing with both hands.

It was hard to steady myself.

If I were to jump now, I would naturally fall into the cold water below.

Yet, there was still some regret over the remaining soju.

Spending time with alcohol.

Dependent on it, the half-empty soju felt regretful.

In reality, is it not lingering attachment to life rather than the soju?

Who knows.

My life is already ruined.

I lit a cigarette.

Even though it’s only about 17 degrees of alcohol.

Drinking it like water without any side dishes, the burning sensation flows down my throat.

All gone.

Three bottles.

All emptied.

My body wouldn’t listen.

Whether it’s the cold air or the desire to end it all.

My mind was clearer than ever.

A characteristic of a drunkard, but that’s just my opinion.

I wanted to scream out to the world.

To open my mouth.

Under the name Jusa, I wanted to shout from the bridge.

But after over four years of enduring this life.

I couldn’t muster the courage to do so.