A Journey to the Rooftop of the World
The rooftop holds a special place in my heart. Growing up in a normal Korean family, my parents worked tirelessly, but hard work alone couldn’t lift us out of poverty. They pinned their hopes on me, their eldest son, to study hard, get into a prestigious university, and uplift the family. But to a fifteen-year-old, endless studying felt like a prison. Whenever I felt suffocated, I would ditch my cram school and escape to the rooftop. Spreading out a mat and gazing up at the sky, I found my happiness there.
The rooftop was my secret haven because no one could find me there. Places like playgrounds, PC rooms, and karaoke bars were too obvious; my teachers or parents could easily catch me there. But the rooftop? That was beyond their imagination. Plus, since it was on the rooftop of my apartment, I could quickly return in case of any emergency.
Beyond its secrecy, the rooftop was a fascinating place. Looking down from above, the people below seemed to wriggle like ants. While I was one of those wriggling people, up there, I felt like an observer, like Fabre watching an ant colony. From above, the world looked entirely different—no voices, no expressions, just movements. They couldn’t see me, and I enjoyed that sense of isolation.
There were two ways to leave the rooftop: walking down the stairs or jumping off. The rooftop was a crossroads between life and death. Peering down from that dizzying height, I felt the urge to live or die. But each time, I chose life. Coming down those stairs, I wasn’t just living out of obligation anymore; I was living because I chose to.
The Weight of Failure
Even after becoming an adult and serving in the military, the pressure remained. Studying, dating, working part-time jobs—all while being pushed to try new things. The truth that doing one thing means giving up another didn’t apply to young people. Society sees us as consumers, wasting our youth, and applauds as we grow old and weary.
The tragedy is that no matter how hard you work, failure often outweighs success. Continuous failure breeds lethargy. You start believing nothing will work out, and your body reacts before your mind does. Feeling heavier, I dragged myself to the rooftop of my three-story house. Surrounded by tightly packed houses, I felt a slight sense of freedom. But I needed something higher, more exhilarating, windier, and further from the world.
The Call of the Himalayas
“Himalayas.” Someone said. Startled, I turned around. There were only the landlord’s drying blankets and a few jars of soybean paste on the rooftop. No one was there. Did I say it? Until then, I hadn’t thought about the Himalayas. But I heard it. And that voice became my signpost. I followed it to the rooftop of the world.
