On a beach in the city of Busan, on the southern coast of South Korea, the sun warms up on a cold mid-December day.
Sitting on a waterfront bench, a middle-aged lady stares at the horizon with a strict look. She’s elegantly dressed, all around has several plastic bags. From one of these she takes out a half-liter can of beer and opens it, as if she was trying to open the door of the room that hides the answers that she craves.
Sip the drink while impassive she observe the waves that rhythmically and harmoniously continue in their endless break on the shore, producing that sound of the sea that leads you to the most intimate thoughts.
In her dark and sweet deep eyes it’s like written her concern and a sort of painful loss.
At the beach some dogs are running chasing each other, a couple stands for a few minutes trying to make the best selfie ever, all around the bench people walking in search of a bit of comfort from the cold winter and there is the noise of construction sites behind where workers are building some new skyscrapers. She, lost and immersed in her distant thoughts, does not seem to be in this place.
The lady finishes the can and lay it gently.
She stares at the sea again, her red lips hide the tighten teeth that are making a noise that only she can hear. She closes his eyes for an interminable moment while the fresh wind blows her hair.
Then she gets up and walks to the beach with a graceful gait, her dark clothes make her look like the shadow of a bird that is flying at sunset.
She goes towards the sea, towards the serene waves, maybe seeking relief from the thing that is chewing her soul.
I lose sight of her.
Meanwhile the sun has set. When I try to find again the lady with my eyes, I can’t see her anymore.
