“Aja! Aja!”
Moving his arms, tanned and burly from extended periods of labor but simultaneously frail and wrinkly towards the tips of his old fingers, my Grandpa, in his mid-seventies, clapped his hands to and fro with a cheery tone of encouragement as he briskly climbed up the half-paved mountainous path. Dragging my feet along the footsteps stamped into the dirt, I lagged tediously, sighing heavily into the painfully warm air. What was the point of conquering all these sans? Namsan, Bukhansan, then… Achasan. It wasn’t like these mountains were going anywhere. They would always be there… “eternally,” like the geographer said in The Little Prince. 

Then, one day, I realized that it wasn’t these sans that were the ones to disappear. 

“Junwon. You don’t have to go hiking today.”

As soon as my mom uttered those magical words, my heart fluttered with excitement. Finally, I didn’t have to endure these excruciating mountain journeys. I was FREE.

Then came the pressing calls, the doleful sobs, the searing silence.

The mountains would always be there… 

But not my Grandpa. 

William Hong is a dedicated student at Chadwick International School in South Korea. Beyond the classroom, he enjoys playing basketball, listening to jazz, and reading books of all genres. His recent interest in writing has kindled into a passion that he wants to pursue more throughout his life. 

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