Return of the Genius Photographer

At the crack of dawn, I packed a few simple things and stepped outside.

The wind that had blown all summer had now stilled, and the early autumn morning was utterly quiet.

As I exhaled, a puff of white breath lingered in the chilly air.

I tightened my coat and began walking toward my destination.

Today’s journey would take me far from home.

After a long ride on Line 1 of the subway, I finally arrived at Dongducheon Jungang Station, near the end of the line.

It had taken over an hour and a half just by subway, but thankfully, there hadn’t been many people, making for a comfortable trip.

It was early, and morning trains on Line 1 were usually quiet, apart from the occasional hikers, soldiers, or foreign workers.

Half-asleep, I rose from my seat and exited the station, stretching as I waited for the next bus.

It was a hassle, but given the destination, it couldn’t be helped.

At least, once I boarded the bus, I’d arrive in no time.

A columbarium.

Commonly referred to as a charnel house, this shared burial site was traditionally seen as an unwelcome place.

Whether it was due to the social belief that ancestral graves should be privately kept by family, or simply the negative connotations surrounding the word “cemetery,” there had always been opposition to building such facilities.

Back in the early 2000s, when columbariums were first becoming common, they were often treated as undesirable, and getting permits to build them wasn’t easy.

It was only with time that perceptions began to change.

Given that, it was no surprise that this cemetery had been built in a remote, sparsely populated area.

[Bus 60-3: To Dongducheon Memorial Park]

How long had I been waiting?

Yawning absentmindedly, I glanced up just as the bus I needed pulled up to the stop.

I immediately boarded the bus headed to the memorial park.

“Good morning!”

“Hello.”

The village bus was quiet, with only a few scattered passengers.

I responded to the driver’s cheery greeting and sat down, lost in thought once more.

Dongducheon Memorial Park.

This destination was home to the largest outdoor columbarium in the metropolitan area, and true to its name, the grounds also featured a cemetery park, making it a frequent place of pilgrimage for those coming to pay their respects.

I planned to photograph the memorial park today, believing it would capture the theme of deficiency and the sentiment of loss through death.

A cemetery was, after all, a place created to remember those who had left us and to comfort those who remained.

“Good morning.”

“Hello, sir.”

As more people got on the bus, exchanging greetings with the driver, one passenger in particular caught my eye.

“Good morning, ma’am. You’re on your way again, I see.”

“Good morning, driver.”

It was an elderly woman, dressed in a beautiful hanbok, holding a cane in one hand and a bundle in the other. She smiled warmly at the driver as she greeted him.

“I brought some rice cakes today. Would you like some, driver?”

“Oh, I’d love some! You’re running a bit late today, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my legs are giving me trouble.”

“Take a seat carefully, ma’am. I’ll get you to the park safely.”

The elderly woman and the driver chatted amiably.

Their voices carried clearly in the empty bus, and I unintentionally overheard their conversation.

Judging from what they said, it seemed like the woman was also heading to the memorial park.

It felt oddly reassuring to have someone else traveling to the same place as me this early in the morning, as if I had an unspoken companion for the journey.

“Ah, these legs of mine give me such trouble as I get older.”

Slowly, with the help of her cane, the elderly woman took her seat and gazed out the window.

She placed the carefully wrapped bundle on her lap—a bright pink cloth wrapping the package against her lavender hanbok—and there was something elegant, almost picturesque, about her appearance.

I found myself wondering, ‘Who is she going to honor?’

Dressed so respectfully, carrying that bundle with such care—who could she be visiting so early in the morning?

Curiosity tugged at me, but I held back. It felt inappropriate to ask such personal questions. Instead, I turned my gaze away and focused on the passing scenery.

Dongducheon Memorial Park was located on the side of a mountain, and as the bus climbed higher, we were soon surrounded by a thick forest.

The autumn leaves were vibrant, painting the mountainside in a beautiful array of colors.

I couldn’t take photos just yet, but I hoped to capture this stunning scene with my camera later.

However, despite the beauty outside, a sense of melancholy began to settle over me.

‘These brilliant autumn leaves will disappear when winter comes.’

Maybe it was because the cemetery was drawing closer, but the fleeting nature of things felt particularly sad.

Just like the autumn leaves that would soon vanish with the onset of winter, those who had passed away were gone forever.

Next autumn, these vibrant colors would return, but once someone leaves this world, they never come back.

They only linger on in the memories of those left behind.

Though my purpose for visiting the cemetery wasn’t to mourn anyone personally, the path to this final resting place still weighed heavily on my heart.

In a way, I had experienced death myself.

Even the mere thought of it stirred feelings of deep sorrow within me.

Just as I began to recall the miraculous event that had occurred in my own life…

“We’ve arrived at the memorial park. Please exit carefully!”

With the driver’s shout, I realized that we had already reached our destination.

As I snapped out of my thoughts and prepared to get off the bus, my eyes once again landed on the elderly woman in the hanbok.

“Thank you, driver.”

“Take care, ma’am.”

The elderly woman gave her thanks to the driver as she slowly and carefully made her way to the exit, just as she had boarded earlier.

She already seemed to have difficulty moving, and with a cane in one hand and the bundle in the other, her steps looked unsteady.

Worried that she might fall, I couldn’t hold back any longer and spoke to her.

“Ma’am, let me carry that for you.”

“Hm? And you are…?”

“You seem to be struggling. Please, don’t refuse, I’d like to help.”

“Ah… thank you.”

The elderly woman tilted her head, seemingly surprised by my sudden offer. After giving me a once-over, she handed over her belongings without hesitation.

I took the bundle into one hand and supported her with the other as we stepped off the bus.

“Thank you, young man.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“No, really. This is the first time someone has helped me on the bus. I’m very grateful.”

“It’s truly nothing. Ma’am, here, take your bundle back.”

With a graceful air, the elderly woman expressed her gratitude again.

As I handed her the cane and bundle, a thought occurred to me.

“Actually, where are you headed? I could carry this for you the whole way.”

The bundle was quite heavy, so I figured it might be better to assist her all the way to her destination. Besides, I could help her and maybe satisfy some of my curiosity along the way.

“Oh no, young man. I’m fine, you have things to do too.”

“I have plenty of time. Please don’t feel burdened.”

“You’ve come to see someone too, haven’t you? I appreciate your kindness, but go ahead and tend to your matters.”

Despite my insistence, the elderly woman politely declined, perhaps feeling too guilty about accepting more help.

She hugged the bundle close and slowly began to walk away.

Though her movements were slow due to her frailty, I didn’t follow after her. I simply watched from a distance.

She had refused my offer so firmly that it would be rude to push further.

Kindness, when forced, can become an imposition.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed that I didn’t get to ask the questions lingering in my mind.

‘It can’t be helped. I should get started on my own work.’

I watched the elderly woman’s retreating figure for a moment, then shifted my focus and began my photo shoot.

— Click!

Bathed in golden sunlight, the memorial park glowed with a peaceful harmony of bright green grass and colorful autumn leaves.

It was truly a fitting resting place for those buried here.

Carefully, I pressed the shutter, mindful not to disturb the serenity of the souls resting in this place.

— Click!

The wall-style outdoor columbarium filling an entire wall.

— Click!

The burial ground and memorial towers containing cremated remains.

— Click!

The single burial mounds familiar to people as traditional graves.

— Click!

And the joint graves where couples or families were buried together.

I captured the various forms of graves, each representing the hearts of those who had said goodbye to their loved ones.

Hoping my photos would reflect the emotions of the bereaved who visited this place.

— Click!

The gravestones framed against the backdrop of the autumn scenery. The photos were peaceful, with a warm, serene atmosphere.

Though the images were beautiful, something felt lacking when I reviewed them.

‘This isn’t enough…’

They were undoubtedly impressive shots, but they fell short of capturing the emotions I was aiming for.

I didn’t want to simply capture the presence of those who had passed, but rather, the hearts of the ones left behind.

These photos just wouldn’t do.

‘So, what should I do?’

I continued to walk slowly, burdened by the thought of not yet knowing what kind of image I needed to capture.

*****

“Is anyone inside?”

After spending some time taking photos around the memorial park, I returned to the entrance and knocked on the door of the management office.

“What can I do for you?”

After a brief wait, a plain-looking caretaker came out and asked.

I handed him a warm can of coffee and replied, “I have a question I’d like to ask. Do you have a moment?”

A person can see only as much as they know.

This applies to photographers as well.

To take good photos, it’s essential to understand what needs to be captured.

Just as I could only take photos after understanding the comedian’s sorrow.

Or only after understanding my father’s heart could I take pictures of him.

So, conversely, if I wasn’t satisfied with the photos I had just taken, it meant that I still didn’t fully grasp what I needed to capture.

After much contemplation, I reached that conclusion and sought out the caretaker.

If I could understand this place even a little better, and if I could comprehend the feelings of the people who come and go here, maybe I could take better photos.

That was my intent.

“Well, I have plenty of time, so it’s no bother to me…”

The caretaker accepted the can of coffee, glanced at me, and asked, “But who are you? If you come here often, I should recognize your face. You look young, too…’

“I’m Nam Woojin, a photographer. The thing is…”

But how should I explain myself?

I had only intended to ask, but I had forgotten that he might be curious about me.

As I paused to think about how to respond, the caretaker said, “A photographer? Ah! Are you here for some promotion?”

“What?”

“Aren’t you here for promotion? I heard that some photographers would be coming soon.”

“Ah…”

It seemed the caretaker had misunderstood something.

However, it wasn’t entirely incorrect to think of it as a form of promotion.

If I exhibited my work, it would bring attention to this place.

So, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let it slide.

“Ah, yes… something like that.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, you should have said so earlier. What are you curious about?”

With that, the caretaker’s demeanor became friendly, allowing me to naturally ask my questions.

“Do you know how often people come here regularly?”

“People who come often? Oh, that’s hard to say.”

The caretaker continued, sounding well-informed. “There are quite a few neglected graves, but there are some who come every day.”

“Every day?”

“It’s not common, but we have one well-known person who comes here daily.”

Hearing this, I felt hopeful that things might work out.

If someone came here every day to remember someone, perhaps they could help resolve my current dilemma.

“They must have come today, too. Would you like to meet them?”

“Is that alright? Would it be rude or anything?”

“I think they’d appreciate it. Generally, people with a lot of grief are glad to have someone to talk to.”

The caretaker answered casually and began to lead me across the park.

“Who is this person?”

“We call her the Hanbok Grandma. Despite her frail health, she comes here every day, rain or shine, dressed in her hanbok to visit the grave.”

As I listened to the description, a familiar image popped into my mind.

An elderly woman in a hanbok…

Could it be…?

“Oh, there she is! Grandma!”

We crossed the park, and when the caretaker greeted her, the elderly woman turned to face us.

Dressed in a lovely lavender hanbok, the refined grandmother matched my expectations perfectly.

It was indeed the same woman I had encountered on the bus.