casting lines


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Yangjin is most well-known for its mackerel, but that’s not how Joonki chooses to remember the fishing village of their youth. Their daily hauls of mackerel were what paid the bills and kept them fed, but Joonki’s lingering dreams of Yangjin-ri’s rocky coastline will always glimmer with schools upon schools of carp.

In all of Joonki’s years spent casting lines and baiting hooks, they have caught but eight carp. They’re an elusive fish, native to the region—fabled to grant wishes and offer advice. Naturally, they’re protected with catch-and-release laws, and all eight of Joonki’s lucky finds were deemed too young for the chopping block. Resigned, they'd had to let them slip back into the ocean’s dark waves, trailing blood as they vanished into the deep.

It’s been a lifetime since Joonki set foot on Yangjin’s shore (let alone held a fishing rod), but they still find themself playing catch-and-release when they least expect it—with Antony, with their new home in the city, with their own history. It’s the unshakeable feeling that Joonki is condemning their loved ones to an untimely end that keeps them rooted firmly in place, too petrified to venture into the future or reflect too closely on the past.

Joonki will always call Yangjin-ri home; there are pieces of them lodged in the wooden slats of the fishing dock, woven into the ropes that keep the ships tethered to shore. Yangjin is home, but Joonki knows all too well that they're not cut out for chasing carp.