I am paying my bus fare with coins as the warm, crowded bus waits at the market stop. The scratched fare box, faded seats, and hard midday sunlight make the moment feel unmistakably like an ordinary Sunday in 1997.
Timeslip Diary
A Sunday of Bus Coins, Cassette Hiss, and Uneasy Headlines
8 17, 1997 β A day in Dayoon Lee's life
The world of 1997Timeslip day 1Me at 19
At 6:42 a.m. in my narrow rooftop room off Sinchonβs Pine Alley, I woke to a milk cart rattling over the lane and the slow churn of an electric fan beside my bedding. For several breaths I stared at the faded flowered wallpaper, trying to accept that this was my first morning in 1997.
π Today's diary3
6:42 a.m. β The Rooftop Room on Pine Alley π
At 6:42 a.m. in my rooftop room on Pine Alley, I folded the thin summer quilt and pressed the play button on a gray cassette radio. The tape answered with a soft hiss before a bright pop song filled the room, while the fan pushed warm air smelling faintly of laundry soap across the floor. I washed at the little sink with cold water, pulled on a cotton T-shirt and loose jeans, and checked the coins in my vinyl purse. The Sunday newspaper outside the landladyβs door still carried anxious talk about troubled companies and the uncertain economy, words that seemed too heavy for such a clear morning. I ate barley rice with kimchi and a fried egg in the downstairs kitchen, then slipped my pager into my waistband before leaving.
π Instead of the original source, this card links to a search for records from that era.
12:25 p.m. β The Bus Stop by Mapo Riverside Market π
At 12:25 p.m. at the bus stop beside Mapo Riverside Market, I held four hundred won ready in my palm as the blue city bus groaned toward the curb. Inside, vinyl seats were warm from the sun, the fare box clattered with coins, and a small fan above the driver stirred the smells of dust, hair spray, and shopping bags full of green onions. I met a classmate near the stationery stalls and helped choose notebooks for the coming term, comparing thick domestic pads with cheaper, thinner ones. Over bowls of cold noodles, the shop radio returned to the aircraft tragedy in Guam, and the room grew quieter for a moment; I lowered my chopsticks and listened without speaking. Afterward we shared a paper cup of vending-machine coffee and talked carefully about tuition, part-time work, and whether our families were more worried than they admitted.
π Instead of the original source, this card links to a search for records from that era.
7:38 p.m. β Willow Coin-Laundry Rooftop π
At 7:38 p.m. on the rooftop above Willow Coin-Laundry, I sat beside a row of damp shirts while the last orange light caught the television antennas. My classmate had written a pay-phone number on a scrap of paper, so I copied it into my small address book and promised myself I would call about the bookstore job tomorrow. From an open window below came the click of a VCR loading a tape, followed by canned laughter and the rattle of dishes being washed. I rewound my cassette with a pencil to save the batteries, then wrote down every coin I had spent: bus fare, noodles, coffee, and one notebook. The city looked ordinary from above, yet the worried newspaper phrases and the radioβs subdued voice stayed with me. Before going downstairs, I touched the warm pager at my waist and felt, for the first time today, that I might be able to make a place for myself here.
π Instead of the original source, this card links to a search for records from that era.
π° What was happening that day3
Kiaβs Troubles Deepen Amid the Asian Currency Crisis β
The newspaper and market conversations carried unease about Kia and the financial strain spreading through the region. At nineteen, I understood it mostly through tuition worries, job talk, and the careful way adults counted money.
youtube.com
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The Aftermath of the Korean Air Flight 801 Tragedy β
I heard the tragedy mentioned again on a shop radio and fell silent with everyone else. Even at a distance, the news made the bright summer afternoon feel subdued.
instagram.com
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A City Bus Ride for 400 Won β
I counted out the 400-won fare before boarding, treating each coin as part of my limited Sunday budget. The small sum carried me across the city and made the day feel tangibly rooted in this year.
thescoop.co.kr
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This diary is a work of fiction based on historical records and period research. Events with available records link to the original sources, while eras without surviving records are reimagined through research-based imagination.
