6:20 a.m. — Blue-Well Alley Attic 🔍

At 6:20 a.m. in my attic room above Blue-Well Alley, I folded the thin summer quilt and splashed my face from a dented brass basin. Downstairs, the landlady set out barley rice, a spoonful of salted radish, and weak soybean-paste broth that smelled of green onion. At nineteen I earn my meals as an apprentice compositor, so I wrapped my lunch tin in a faded cloth and checked that my wooden-soled shoes were still tied with sound cord. Near the alley entrance, a uniformed patrolman stood while the neighborhood headman reminded households about the new family-name records, and everyone answered too quickly. I kept my eyes on the wet stones and repeated my own name silently—Kim Songhyun—so no order could make it disappear inside me.

🔍 이 카드는 원문 대신 그 시절 관련 기록 검색으로 연결됩니다.

12:35 p.m. — Myeongryun Print Shop 🔍

At 12:35 p.m. inside Myeongryun Print Shop near Jongno, I ate cold barley rice beside the type cases while the treadle press sighed and struck like a tired animal. My fingers were black with ink, and the lead sorts felt cool despite the August heat trapped beneath the tiled roof. The foreman inspected every proof twice, because a careless phrase could bring police questions to the shop, then sent me to buy paste and wrapping paper with a few jeon. At the stationery stall, an older delivery boy murmured that young men in Chuncheon had been speaking among farmers about rebuilding our culture and keeping a free spirit alive. He gave no names, and I asked none; we both turned at the jingle of a bicycle bell as if we had only discussed the weather. Back at the press, I set ordinary shop notices, but each piece of type seemed to carry the weight of words that could not safely be printed.

🔍 이 카드는 원문 대신 그 시절 관련 기록 검색으로 연결됩니다.

7:10 p.m. — Moon-Jar Well Courtyard 🔍

At 7:10 p.m. in the Moon-Jar Well courtyard behind my lodging, I drew up a bucket while cicadas rasped from the persimmon tree and supper smoke drifted between the eaves. A student lodger named Minjae sat nearby mending the strap of his canvas satchel, and I told him only that I had heard people elsewhere were still reading forbidden ideas and speaking carefully to farmers. He warned me that even walls had ears, then pushed half a yellow melon toward me with a crooked smile. We ate from the same chipped bowl as the last tram rattled beyond the alley, its windows glowing through the dusk. In my room afterward, I rubbed the ink from my hands with laundry soap, but a dark crescent remained beneath each nail. Before putting out the kerosene lamp, I wrote my name once on a scrap, memorized the motion of every stroke, and burned the paper over the basin.

🔍 이 카드는 원문 대신 그 시절 관련 기록 검색으로 연결됩니다.

Nationalist thought continued to circulate in 1940 ↗

Today I heard, only as a guarded whisper, that young people in the Chuncheon area were encouraging farmers to preserve national consciousness and rebuild their culture. The news made me afraid, but it also left a small, steady warmth in my chest.

db.history.go.kr

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Pressure to adopt Japanese-style names in 1940 ↗

The neighborhood reminder about family-name records reached me as part of the pressure surrounding the name-change policy introduced this year. I answered cautiously in public and held my Korean name more firmly in private.

namu.wiki

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